Mirror, Mirror
by loveislouder94
Summary: This Mirror, it taunts you and haunts you, it challenges and changes you, and it never, ever lies. Each of the Harry Potter characters look into the Mirror of Erised… Latest chapter: Lavender
1. The Grey Lady

**A/N: This is dedicated to Raven- Fly Away, a.k.a my good friend Daina. Hope you like it, don't forget to review!**

Ghosts don't have reflections. Or rather, ghosts _shouldn't_ have reflections. But this mirror was a special mirror. The Mirror of Erised. She shouldn't be looking at it, she shouldn't be anywhere near it. All the ghosts had heard Dumbledore's tales of how this Mirror could drive a perfectly sane person to madness. The pull was too much to resist, the pull of looking into her own heart. She thought the image would be obvious, for the dead, the greatest desire would be life. To be able to eat again, to live again, even pain would be welcome if it meant a way out of this endless limbo world. The image was certainly not what she had expected. She saw herself, alive, beautiful blonde hair cascading down her back. What was strange about the scene was the person standing beside her. She hated him, didn't she? There was no way she could love him, he had killed her! He was a persistent, angry brute. The Grey Lady drifted away silently. She needed to think, to be by herself. She felt confused, sad and angry. All because the image in the mirror showed the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron married, together forever.


	2. Snape

**A/N: Thanks to Rhy-wen for reviewing! Hope you enjoy this, don't forget to review!**

Dumbledore had told him not to look in the mirror. Wasn't that the stupidest thing he could have done, everyone responds to reverse psychology! Snape managed to get the Mirror all the way to the final room under the trap door before he looked into the Mirror. He wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Seeing her face bought the usual onslaught of complicated emotions: love, happiness, sadness, remorse, self-loathing. Then came the thought that maybe Dumbledore had wanted him to look in the Mirror, had wanted him to see her lovely face, feel these terrible things.

Gazing into her green eyes, filled with warmth he hadn't seen in so long, he remembered. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. His first and probably his only real friend. He had treated her horribly, like dirt on his shoe. Now she was dead, it was his fault and he could never say sorry for all the things he'd done. She was the reason he was here, doing what was right. Suddenly he understood why Dumbledore had wanted him to look in the Mirror. For when it was time to go, he found it easier to leave, uttering a simple 'Good bye, Lily, I'll never forget you'.


	3. Evil Ginny

A/N: Hello to Taylor and Gemma who were there when I wrote this and helped me

**A/N: Thanks to Gemma who gave the idea of evil Ginny! Thanks to xoxphoenix for reviewing. Enjoy evil Ginny!**

Why had she come here? It was dangerous; the Carrows could catch her at any moment. She had to make it quick. It was kind of obvious what she was going to see but she wanted to see him anyway. He left her here to deal with whatever happened on her own while he went gallivanting off on some secret mission with his two best friends. She missed him more than she had ever thought possible, his absence caused her physical pain. But life went on with or without him. Each morning Ginny would get up and encourage other people, urge them not to give up, when inside she was a mess. She would toss her long red hair behind her in an act of defiance to those two who had the gall to call themselves teachers. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to the reflective surface. The sight that met her eyes was certainly not what she had imagined. She gave a small high-pitched shriek before remembering where she was. Waves of horror washed over her. _Who am I? _She thought, _What am I becoming?_ The mirror showed one person, a frequent visitor to her dreams. Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	4. James Potter I

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Much appreciated! Hope you like this.**

**Disclaimer: No matter how many times I ask, they never give me Harry Potter for Christmas.**

There she was, in all her glory. She went about her life so casually, didn't she realise how many hearts she touched? Beautiful Lily Evans stared out at him from inside the Mirror. He wanted to reach inside it and touch, feel her hand in his, even though the reasonable part of his mind told him it was impossible. She hated him, it was obvious. Spiteful, furious words flew from her mouth, piercing his heart as he watched her green eyes light up with anger, her red hair flying behind her. It was his fault she treated him this way, he shouldn't act so cruelly towards some people, but he couldn't change who he was.

That was one of the many thing he loved about her, she was so kind and generous to everyone, and could see light in the darkest of souls. He often thought she was too nice for her own good, someday someone would hurt her. Not him. He would never hurt her, and one day, she would agree to go out with him.

Looking at her image before him, considering once again how good she was, he decided not to give up. He would ask her, and ask her again. Eventually, James Potter would have his hearts desire.


	5. Luna

**A/N: Here we have the deepest desire of Luna Lovegood, set after her marriage, but before motherhood and the realization that some of her father's more ridiculous theories (i.e. Crumple Horned Snorcack, were not real). Thank you to my friend Daina, who gave me the idea for this, and to everyone who reviewed. Enjoy!**

Luna Lovegood, world famous naturalist, her friends called her. She liked the nickname, it made her feel as though she belonged, but she felt she didn't deserve it. For how could someone claim to be an amazing naturalist if they could not prove the existence of creatures as amazing as the Crumple Horned Snorcack?

Being here went against everything she believed in, and yet it didn't. The Mirror showed what was in your heart, and the heart is sometimes illogical, there's no proof or reason to what it does, it just does. On the other hand, looking into your heart required searching for the truth, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. That was more Hermione's forte.

'Let me be both logical and not, and look into my heart' she thought, bracing herself for whatever was to come. She raised her eyes to the Mirror and smiled.

Luna Lovegood stood, her trademark dreamy smile plastered on her face, her scraggly blonde hair billowing behind her, propelled by an unseen breeze. Beside Luna was her husband, Rolf. Looking happy just being near her, evident in the way his captivating green eyes were locked on her, filled with adoration. But the most amazing part of this picturesque scene was the creature standing with them, unmistakably the Crumple Horned Snorcack.


	6. Remus Lupin

**A/N: Two chapters in one week! Woo hoo! Remus Lupin looks in the Mirror. Enjoy, and don't forget to review. Hi to Daina who's watching me write this!**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine**

Remus walked at a furious pace, not conscious of where he was going. Molly and Arthur have been telling him he's wrong, that he is blinded to the truth that was obvious to everyone else: he loved her. _I don't need this right now_ he thought. Dumbledore has just died! Well, there's one way to find out the truth, consult the Mirror. So that's where he went.

He wasn't sure what he'd see when he looked in the Mirror, but he was certain it wouldn't be what everyone would expect. Looking up, his eyes were met with a scene that proved him wrong in every way. A young woman was standing beside him, dressed in a lovely white dress, a wedding dress. Her features were not set, constantly changing. There was one appearance that cropped up more than all the others: a heart shaped face with soft ivory skin, lit up by a bright smile and large chocolate brown eyes. Finally, the head was topped by long wavy hair that was a shocking shade of pink. Clearly, Remus was gazing at Nymphadora Tonks. But that was crazy, he couldn't have feelings for her! She was too young for him, they were so different, and he was dangerous, for goodness sake! _But you don't deny you love her_ said a nagging voice in his head, they were all excuses. Listen to your heart. His heart was saying he loved her, telling him to apologise, and who can resist their hearts desire?


	7. Hermione

**A/N: I can't really think of anything to say…..thank you for the reviews, and happy reading! :) Oh, and this is set in HBP, when Ron is with Lavender and Hermione is upset about it.**

**Disclaimer: If I could make a profit from this, it wouldn't be on here.**

_I need a place to hide, I need to sort through the mess in my head, I need a sanctuary_, Hermione thought, hurrying past the tapestry with tears streaming down her face.

When she had walked past three times, she looked up and was glad to see a door before her. Without hesitation, she opened it and went inside.

The room was beautiful, and just what she needed. The floor was carpeted, a nice cream colour, and soft to step on. You couldn't see the walls, for they were blocked by the tall bookshelves. Each shelf was packed with books, all on different subjects. In the middle of the room there was a large armchair that looked very comfortable. Opposite the arm chair was a mirror, with the inscription _erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_ on the top. What could it mean? Hermione wondered. It's not Latin, or any other language, maybe it's a code….

She tried many processes to work out the inscription before she realised that it could be something spelled backwards. Reversing the inscription gave her: I show not your face, but your hearts desire.

She snorted in disbelief, like a mirror could do that! Still, it wouldn't hurt to look…

Hermione was standing in the garden of the Burrow, a delighted smile on her face. Her bushy brown hair was straight and tied in an elaborate bun atop her head. Standing next to her, also smiling, with an arm around her waist was Ron.


	8. Moaning Myrtle

**A/N: School holidays! Woo! Holidays = free time, which = updates! Again, I haven't updated in a while, stupid writers block! *sob* It's Moaning Myrtle! *sob***

Life. Wouldn't it be nice to live again? I haven't lived in so long. Of course, some would argue that I do live, I walk, I talk, I see. But I don't live, I exist, and for someone like me, those are two very different things. For over fifty years I have drifted through the halls of this ancient school, a ghostly apparition, ice cold to the touch. On this lonely path I am forever condemned to tread I leave no footprints. Nothing ties me here, I have no relationships, no wants or desires save that which is forever forbidden to my kind. But this Mirror, it shows something different.

Gazing into the reflective surface, I am pulled into a world of fantasy. A world where I am not Moaning Myrtle, just Myrtle, and I am very much alive. I can eat, chew each morsel of the delicious meal as it enters my mouth, and savour the explosion of flavour on my tastebuds. As I walk, I enjoy the sounds, the steady rhythm my feet produce as they hit the ground, and of course the footprints. Visible proof that I matter, but not only that; I _am_ matter, made up of billions of tiny atoms buzzing around. Together, these atoms make up a living, breathing person: me.

How nice it would be to live in this imaginary world for all of eternity, content and oblivious to the truth. However, my logical side has other ideas, pulling me back to the present. Just like that, the horrid reality is staring me in the face: I am Moaning Myrtle, a nerdy-looking, depressed, dead girl.

I long to return to oblivion, to stare at the Mirror. It takes all my restraint to stop myself. _No, Myrtle_, I think firmly, _you must keep your grip on reality, you must stay here, continue the never-ending journey along the path with no destination. You are not living or dead- you simply _are.


	9. Cedric Diggory

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, AGAIN, but I couldn't think of a character to write, nor how to write it --- stupid writer's block!!!**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill – I own nothing.**

Finding the Mirror was an accident, or so he told himself. Deep down though, something told Cedric that Hogwarts had led him to this room. Something had led him to this Mirror in his time of uncertainty, when nothing was definite. He could die in the Tournament, that was the true, terrible reality.

That's not what the Mirror showed, though. When he looked into its depths, he could forget winning the Tournament, forget the pressure he felt to make his father proud, forget everything but the glorious scene in front of him:

The Tournament was over, finished. Cedric was standing on the Quidditch pitch. His brown hair was soaked with sweat, he was breathing hard and he looked exhausted. The expression on his face shone through everything else. It was a mixture of joy, triumph, pride and relief topped with a winning smile. In his hands he held the Triwizard cup and next to him, looking just as happy and proud were his parents and Cho Chang.

It was a wonderful scene, one Cedric could barely take his eyes off, and it gave him hope.

Little did he know, it was not to be. His days were numbered; his death was sneaking up on him, getting closer with every second that passed.


	10. Neville Longbottom

**A/N: Honestly, I suck at updating….But anyway, for those of you reading, here's another chapter! This is going to focus on Neville in third year, after he got the Howler from his gran…Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favourited this story**

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

**For: Weezy6, who gave me the idea for this one…**

Neville never could do anything right. He didn't have very many friends, and he didn't do well in class, though Professor McGonagall said that this was due a lack of confidence in himself. When he wrote down the list of passwords to Gryffindor tower, he didn't realise that he was basically handing a mass murderer his next victim on a silver platter. He was well aware that Harry could have died because of him, as if he needed his gran to send a Howler to remind him. But that's what she did, for as long as he could remember. Pointed out his flaws, compared him to his parents, and scolded him. Neville secretly thought that she was the main reason he had no confidence in himself.

As he sprinted out of the Great Hall, clutching the smoking Howler in his hands, he sought only a room into which he could run and lock the door, to prevent anyone hearing the shrill, angry words his gran had sent him.

He found such a room and, red-faced and out of breath, he shut the door behind him. Caught up in listening to the Howler, Neville did not immediately notice the gold framed, full length mirror that stood against the back wall. When he removed his eyes from the ground, where he had placed them in a feeble attempt to escape the sounds of the Howler, he found himself riveted to the reflective image. He saw himself, exactly the same – round faced, with buck teeth and big ears, if a little older. But there was something different in the way this Neville held himself and, the real Neville could sense, about how others saw him. His back was straight, his head held high, and he was smiling. This was a Neville who was brave and happy, a Neville his gran could be proud of. A Neville who didn't exist

_If only…_ Neville thought morosely.

_Why not?_ A stubborn voice at the back of his mind piped up. _Why can't this Neville exist?_

_Because I'm not that type of person, never have been, never will be_. He argued with himself internally.

_But why not? What's stopping you? What's stopping you from being that Neville that has earned people's respect - that is a hero?_ That annoying voice persisted.

_I dunno….nothing_. He replied, and then cringed. _Oh no, I'm arguing with myself! Still, you're right, there IS nothing stopping me!_

With that thought, Neville left the room, determined to become that Neville, determined to be a hero.


	11. Dobby

**A/N: Back to school today! Urgh…..at least it's not as hot as it was….anyway, hope you enjoy chapter 11, and thanks to everyone who reviewed/favourited this!**

**Disclaimer: The only profit I make from this is in the form of reviews.**

**A special thank you to charahtastic for her character suggestions, they were quite helpful.**

House elves are born to serve; it's what they've always done. Generation after generation serving the same families. Some elves may be treated horribly, others may be lucky, and have kind Masters. Regardless, House Elves never question what they do. Until one particular elf, Dobby came along.

Dobby had just been in the Hospital Wing, observing Harry Potter as he recovered from the attack of the Rogue Bludger. Harry had been about to strangle Dobby, but Dobby was unfazed, for he had endured far worse at the hands of his masters, and he knew Harry Potter would never go so far as to kill him, he was not that sort of person.

Dobby Apparated out of the Hospital Wing, expecting to find himself in the Malfoy Manor, instead, he was in what looked like an unused classroom, dark and gloomy, with cobwebs lining the ceiling. The room's one redeeming feature was the large Mirror at the front of the room. Dobby was a curious elf, and in no hurry to return to his masters – they would be sleeping – so he fixed his eyes on the Mirror.

Dobby, unlike other elves, was not happy with his lot, his desire was to be free, and this is what the Mirror showed him. An impossible scenario, yes but one the elf thought he could feast his eyes on forever. There he stood, tall and proud, a smile on his face, and his round tennis ball-like eyes shining with happiness. Instead of his usual grubby pillowcase, Dobby was wearing a T-Shirt, a few sizes too large, and a pair of odd-looking mismatched socks. He was wearing clothes, a sure sign of freedom.

_Freedom is not for the likes of us…_Dobby thought morosely, _we serve our masters, from the time we are old enough, to our very last breath. Captivity is all we know, and all we shall ever know. Oh, what I wouldn't give to feel the wind on my face, the sun beaming down, to be able to enjoy such natural wonders, without the feeling of slavery resting on my shoulders. But it is not to be… _He tore his eyes from the impossible image, and returned to his masters.

Little did he know, freedom was less than a year away….


	12. Albus Dumbledore

**A/N: Long weekend, means extra time which means update!! Celebrate!! Well, I will be anyway… My family is making sauce today, an Italian tradition, known as National Wog Day to those of you who have read 'Looking for Alibrandi'. I thought it was a good book…Anyway, thanks to everyone who has reviewed; they put a big smile on my face.**

**For: L.A.A.H. the character is Dumbledore.**

**Disclaimer: Princess Casey and I came up with tons of these in English, but I can't remember them….wait…got one: "I like HP, you like HP! Who likes HP? We like HP! Who owns HP? Not us!"**

'What do you see when you look in the Mirror?' Such a simple, ordinary question, if only there was an honest, simple and ordinary answer. For this boy though, he would provide one, for a child as young as he does not need to be weighed down by the woes of one as old as Dumbledore.

'I? I see myself holding a pair of thick woollen socks.'

Harry stared at him; clearly he had not been expecting such an answer.

'One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.'

His young student nodded, but Dumbledore could tell that there was a part of him that didn't quite believe the lie he had been told.

'Off to bed, now.'

'Yes, sir, goodnight,' Harry replied.

'Good night, Harry Potter.'

Dumbledore watched as the boy put his invisibility cloak back on, and waited until he saw the door open and close before he let his calm expression drop, and raised his eyes once more to the Mirror.

Looking into a Mirror, be it an ordinary Mirror or one as special as the Mirror of Erised, was a curious thing. It caused one to ponder many things – an ordinary mirror showed oneself as everyone else saw them and had the ability to create vanity and selfishness, or it could boost self loathing, and make the one who looked into it shy away from them forever. Take Severus for example. The Mirror of Erised however, had a different effect. By showing one their deepest desire, of which they themselves may not be aware, it forced them to confront part of themselves they kept hidden. That was what it did for Dumbledore.

He saw his family as it could have been, but never would be, and he would never know if it was his fault. His mother was there, her happiness evident, though a smile never graced her stern features. His father was next to her, eyes twinkling in the same manner as that of his eldest son. Albus was standing behind them, already tallest in the family. And of course, Aberforth standing next to him, holding a grinning Ariana in his arms. Grinning, and very much alive.

Wouldn't that be nice? To be able to undo the mistakes of the past and have everything you always wanted? Yes, it would be very nice, but that doesn't mean it would happen. If all his years and knowledge had taught him anything, it had taught him that.

The way Ariana perished, and the fact that it could have been his fault only increased his fascination with death. It was a prospect of great fear for many people. Yet, death was inevitable and certain, so in a way it should comfort us – the knowledge that at least something in this life is definite.

_Come on, old man look at you, talking to yourself_, he chided, _stop dwelling on the past, we are in the midst of the present and what will become the past, and it is the future to which we look forward, the people to be met, the memories to be made and the life to be lived. _


	13. Rose

**A/N: Chapter 13, unlucky 13….I don't actually think 13 is unlucky, what do you think? Friday the 13****th**** was pretty normal for me, Daina went to Maths, which is definitely unlucky…, de tout facon, this one is Rose Weasley for Iccle Amy.**

**Disclaimer: Write something here! (I stole that from Daina, sorry).**

**There are going to be two of these, one will be extremely random, and the other will be serious. The credit for the random ideas goes to my friends Princess Casey (you should totally read her story – Twilight: The carnival) and Maddy, who is just awesome. Now that this A/N is probably longer than the story, I'll end it… -Kitty-**

**Random first up**

What the Hell? Rose Weasley thought, utterly flabbergasted at the image that appeared in the Mirror. Why on Earth would my greatest desire be to turn into a super hero called Cow Girl? Because that is exactly what she saw.

Her fiery red hair was out, cascading down her shoulders, ending with a few bouncy curls. Her brown eyes were twinkling with mirth and there was a wide smile glued to her face. Atop her head was a brown cowboy hat and she had a bright pink sparkly cape that was billowing out behind her. In her right hand she held a water pistol which was filled with perfume, her finger rested on the trigger, ready to spray any unsuspecting victims with Red Door. Her left hand rested on her hip, near to where her make-up gun bulged in the holster that was attached to her tartan mini-skirt, the pleats nicely pressed and all.

As she watched a desert appeared behind her, and a sandstorm raged in the background. Rose, as well as the cow that was standing next to her, was unaffected.

"I am Rose, making the world pretty, every day!"

Oh dear God, what's wrong with me?

**Serious one **

Scooby Doo, what was that again?

Oh, right it was that Muggle story about a talking dog that acts as a detective. Wouldn't it be nice to be a detective? No, not a detective, an Auror…

Stop! Rose, stay on track, she admonished herself. Just look into the Mirror, it's not that hard, you look into mirrors every day. But none like this one said an annoying voice at the back of her mind, which had the habit of making itself known at the worst of times.

Shut up! Stupid voice, I'm looking into the Mirror! Mum looked into it and she said it really helped her when she was upset, so it's going to help me now.

With that in mind, she hesitantly moved her eyes upwards, almost afraid of what she would see, but there was no reason for her apprehension, for she only saw herself, no different to the way she was.

She studied the image for a while and discovered that there was a subtle difference, not obvious, but still there. For Rose looked the same to herself, the difference was in how other people saw her. Instead of seeing a miniature Hermione, they saw Rose Weasley who was different and yet the same as her parents. She was her own person, and when people saw her that way, it gave her a different perception of herself and she was more confident.

So that's what I really want, she thought, and now I know how I can get it. All I have to do is believe myself that I'm not a copy of them, and then I will be. And maybe Scorpius will notice me too…

**A/N: Every story I've read Rose is just like Hermione and I wanted to have her unhappy with how people saw her like that, and I couldn't resist adding a reference to Scorpius….hope you like it!**


	14. Scorpius

**A/N: This one will be Scorpius Malfoy, due to a review posted by yellow 14, for which I'd like to say thanks. I had a day off school yesterday, and I also obtained a copy of Twilight on DVD, even though it hasn't come out here yet, so I was pretty happy with that. And I saw a HBP poster at our local cinemas! You didn't really need to know that…also I'd like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed, we made it to 100, guys! Yay!! What have you guys been up to?**

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling is to Harry Potter as Kitty Bridgeta is to her fan fics.**

Chocolate was the only thing he was seeking when he snuck out of the Common Room, but he got so much more than he bargained for. Scorpius had some idea – well, not very much idea where the kitchens were. Well by not very much idea he meant not very much idea he meant absolutely no idea, but that's not the point. He had been tiptoeing as quickly as possible through the dark hallways when he heard a soft patter of feet which seemed to be following him. He pivoted suddenly, turning to face whatever it was, and was confronted with a gray tabby cat called Mr. Twinkles. Mr. Twinkles wasn't the real problem though; it was his owner, Mrs Filch. She was the caretaker of Hogwarts, daughter of Filch (the old caretaker) and Madame Pince – the librarian, and she was the crabbiest person you were ever likely to find, despite her youth. Like her father before her, Filch seemed to have an almost telepathic link with her pet and would no doubt be there soon, so Scorpius ran as fast as his legs would carry him, desperate to avoid the malicious glare in those mud brown eyes and the angry sound of that grating voice that was like nails on a blackboard. Abandoning his attempts as being quiet, he pounded along the seventh floor, his eyes searching the darkness for the tapestry of trolls that concealed the Room of Requirement. Aha! There it was, just up ahead. He slowed down to a walk, pacing back and forth past the tapestry, thinking desperately, _I need a place to hide; I need a place Filch won't find me. _Mercifully, a door appeared and Scorpius pushed it open to reveal a room larger than any he had seen, and he was at Hogwarts, for goodness sake! The walls were painted a light brown, otherwise known as beige. Yet it didn't really matter for the colour of the wall could scarcely be seen between the piles upon piles of various items that were scattered about, the room. Scorpius could see why the room had shown itself to him thus; there were a million and one places you could hide in here and never be found. Curious, Scorpius walked through the labyrinth of objects, examining things that caught his eye. Suddenly, looking towards what he assumed to be the back of the room, he saw a full length mirror that looked like it had been there a while, judging by the amount of dust that covered it. He looked into the Mirror and flinched, he had assumed he was alone. He whipped his head around, almost cricking his neck as he did so, but as hard as he searched, he found no one behind him. It was then that Scorpius remembered something his father had once told him about Hogwarts.

_'Son, there was once a Mirror at Hogwarts, I don't know where it is now, called the Mirror of Erised. And don't look at me like that, I'm not finished.' For indeed he his son was giving him a look that seemed to say "yeah, so what?" Scorpius rearranged his features and Draco said 'good, as I was saying, the Mirror of Erised is no ordinary Mirror, for it shows not your reflection, but the thing you want most in the world.'_

This must be the Mirror, the Mirror of Erised. It would explain why he saw not his own relflection, but that of the gorgeous Rose Weasley. Having said that, she seemed impervious to effect she had on people, with her head always buried in one book or another. _Rose,_ he thought _Rose Weasley, one day you'll look and truly see_.


	15. Draco Malfoy

**A/N: This one is Draco, for Hamelia Le Claire. I was a bit worried about writing this one, because I didn't want to make him OOC…oh well, fingers crossed, and I hope you like it! Today, I wrote an English essay (joy!*sarcasm*), what did you guys do? BTW: The Mirror is in the Room of Requirement because the Room thinks that the person could learn something by looking into it.**

**Disclaimer: Give me an N! Give me an O! Give me a T! Give me a H! Give me an I! Give me another N! Give me a G! Put it all together, and that's what I own.**

Running blindly had its perks, as Draco Malfoy found out one day in his sixth year of schooling. When he had first been given the task of killing Dumbledore by the Dark Lord, he had been delighted, imagining the time when he had done as he was bidden, and had risen to the top ranks of the Death Eaters. He hadn't really given much thought to how he would actually pull off the murder. Try as he might to sugar coat it; call it a task or a duty, when it came down to it, that's what Draco was faced with: directly or indirectly being responsible for the death of another human being.

His previous plans had failed – the necklace hadn't even made it as far as the school gates, and the mead had somehow landed in the hands of that idiot Weasley – trust a Weasley to foil his plans! The collapse of his first two attempts was somewhat disheartening, and Draco was no longer sure if he would be able to complete his mission. The very idea terrified him, for he knew the alternative was death.

So now here he was sprinting along the corridors of Hogwarts, paying no heed to where he was going, accompanied only by the knowledge that he needed somewhere he could be alone, to sort out the jumbled mess that had become his thoughts. He stopped at the tapestry of trolls, thinking that if the Room could hide his back-up plan, in which he had not much confidence at the moment, surely it could provide him with a sanctuary.

A door appeared, and Draco yanked it open, looking left and right to ensure he had not been seen before shutting it behind him. He had hoped for a small room with a comfortable armchair, and perhaps a fireplace. The Room seemed to have other ideas, instead presenting him with what looked like an abandoned classroom, with a Mirror at the front.

_Just what I need, _he thought bitterly, _to look in there and see myself staring back, miserable, useless wretch that I am._

Despite the irritable part of him that was doubtful of any help a Mirror might offer, Draco found himself looking up.

An older, wiser Malfoy gazed back at him. This Malfoy was safe and comfortable in the knowledge that his father was proud of him, and best of all, he was free of the burden of the Dark Lord. Though there was no physical evidence to back up that conclusion, it was obvious by the expression and posture of this person, presumably his future self.

Whatever the Mirror was, its image gave Draco a new sense of optimism, and he exited the room with a much lighter heart, for although no real solution had been found, he had been given the greatest gift of all: hope.


	16. Lily Potter

**A/N: It's been ages, literally, since I've updated this story…Again, I have no excuses. ****What have you guys been up to? I'm reading Harry, A History by Melissa Anelli (I think that's how you spell it?) at the moment, and I'm enjoying it so far… This one will be Lily Potter, for Lady Eleanor Boleyn.**

**Disclaimer: Have you heard that song where they go 'what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!'? Change the lyrics to 'what do I own? Absolutely nothing!' That would apply to me.**

_Finally_, Lily thought to herself, _took long enough!_

She had been walking backwards and forwards along the seventh floor corridor – the one that housed the tapestry of trolls – trying to summon the Room of Requirement.

Her dad – Harry Potter – had told her and her brothers about the Mirror of Erised last year, as well as the fact that it could sometimes be found in the Room of Requirement, believing they were all now old enough to understand. At twelve years old, and in her second year at Hogwarts, Lily certainly thought so.

Recently, she had felt a bit…out of place, and she hoped that looking into the Mirror might lay those feelings to rest somehow. Harry had told her the whole story – how when he looked into it, he saw his dead mother and father, Lily's grandparents, whom she'd never really known because they were murdered years ago by the most evil wizard the world had ever known: Voldemort – and that the Mirror had given him a glimpse of what he wanted, helping him at least a little.

Even years later, people were fearful of uttering the name of the evil villain. It seemed his wish had been granted because although his body was dead, his name and reputation lived on.

Lily looked around quickly, pushed open the door and slipped inside, hardly able to contain her curiosity about what she would see. Disappointment momentarily claimed her as her eyes failed to land on the Mirror. When they did find it, her face stretched into a huge grin.

'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?' She kidded to herself, recalling a Muggle fairy tale her Aunt Hermione had once told.

Lily took a deep breath. Feeling apprehensive, she mustered all her will power and set her gaze to the Mirror. It wasn't anything terrible or bizarre, as she had half feared it would be. Reflected in the glass was Lily Potter, daughter of renowned Quidditch player Ginny Weasley, and the Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, when she was in her seventh and final year of schooling, and she was Head Girl.

At first Lily was surprised but becoming head girl was something that none of her siblings had yet achieved and if she was being honest, she'd always felt like she was overshadowed by her huge family, especially her cousin Rose. Rose was really smart and pretty, she had tons of friends and in addition to that she was the only one who didn't realize that Scorpius Malfoy had a crush on her.

_Lily, stop_, she commanded herself, _you're not Rose, you're you! Thinking like that isn't going to change anything, or make you Head Girl._

With that, Lily exited the Room, feeling better than she had when she came in.

Five years later, there was an excited squeal from the top floor of the Potter residence as their daughter opened her Hogwatrs letter and found a Head Girl badge inside.


	17. George

**A/N: I forgot which chapter this is (as in the number) but it is going to be George before the death of Fred, so pre-DH, for blue skies forever. Hope you all have an awesome weekend, and you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I seem to have misplaced the sheet of paper with my disclaimers on it…**

'Where are you going?' Fred asked from his seat next to Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson.

'Just…for a walk,' George replied evasively.

'Okay,' his twin nodded, before turning back to his friends.

George stepped out of the portrait hole, his speed increasing as he went along. When he set off, he wasn't sure where he was going, but an idea began to form in his mind, and he headed in the direction of the troll tapestry on the 7th floor – otherwise known as the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

George paced outside the hidden door, not thinking of what he wanted to appear, exactly, but more of what was on his mind at that point in time. He was George Weasley – one in a set of twins, one half of the same whole – but sometimes he felt as though he were the lesser brother.

He heard a sort of squeezing sound that was presumably the door of the Room pushing itself into existence. It was large and wooden with a gold handle that was difficult to turn.

The Room was small, with Gryffindor hangings that adorned the walls, and two large windows. In addition to, strangely enough, a full length Mirror next to one of the windows.

_Huh, wonder what a Mirror is required for? _George mused, and then, _hey, I made a joke!_

He looked into the Mirror and saw himself and Fred together. Yet it was different to how they really were, or at least how they seemed to George. The Room seemed to have picked up on what he needed and offered a solution, as it had so many times before. George had felt hidden beneath Fred's shadow – he was louder, funnier, and he had Angelina, for whom George harboured a secret affection – but the Room, and the Mirror within, had shown him something different, given him something to believe in.

Unfortunately though they didn't know it, in two short years, the idea of Fred and George would be ripped apart, leaving George behind, alone.


	18. Krum

**A/N: This one will be Viktor Krum, suggested to me by my friend Jenna, whom I think is –spendo- on here, but she won't tell me who she is…I'll find out, though… Anyway, how have you all been? I'm SO excited for the HBP movie, I want it to just be released already!! Hope you like this, and as always, reviews are welcomed with open arms.**

**Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros, I am merely a fan who writes stories about the characters, and I assure you, suing me would not be very beneficial, because I don't own much… :D**

Quidditch. That was all Viktor Krum was known for, a Seeker was all he was known as. He paced up and down a corridor of Hogwarts, debating whether or not to go to the Library. He was filled with indecision – should he talk to her, should he not? Suddenly something in his peripheral vision caught his eye – a door had somehow appeared on the once empty wall.

Curious, Krum opened the door and slipped inside. He thought it strange that an empty classroom would be so concealed, until he saw the Mirror at the front of the room. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. A light coating of dust covered the glass, so he approached and wiped it away, clearing the image before him.

He looked around, utterly bewildered. Satisfied that he was alone, Krum gazed again at the Mirror. He repeated his earlier actions, frowning in puzzlement now.

Looking around, he saw an empty classroom in which he was alone, yet, looking in the Mirror he saw something very different. The Tournament was over. He, Krum, was standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, hoisting a sparkling trophy above his head. Hermione Granger was standing next to him, beaming with pleasure.

That was what he wanted for in that scene, he wasn't thought of as Viktor Krum the marvellous Quidditch player of Bulgaria. They were cheering him because he had won the Tournament, beat all those other people – first in being chosen and then in winning. Viktor Krum wanted to break out of the mould that had been cast around him.


	19. Percy

**A/N: Hooray, exams are over!! Finally! And in two weeks, I have two weeks holiday before semester two! Anyway, how are you all? This one will be Percy, just because, set in PoA, though it doesn't matter exactly when. Apparently there was a new HBP Trailer shown at the Sydney Film Festival, but I can't find a site that will let me watch it online. Have any of you guys seen it?**

**Disclaimer: Six take away six equals zero, which is also what I own.**

"Penny?" Percy called to his girlfriend, "Penny, are you here?"

He had come to meet Penny, as they had arranged earlier, but she was nowhere to be seen. When he took a closer look at his surroundings, he discovered that he was not where he was supposed to be. One of the staircases must have changed while he wasn't paying attention. He really did have to stop daydreaming about Penny so much…

He turned around, to go back the way he had come, only to find no staircase waiting for him. _Okay, I'll go the other way, _he thought. As he began to walk in the opposite direction, his mind once again drifting to his girlfriend, he noticed a door in his peripheral vision that hadn't been there before. He stared at it for a few moments, contemplating the wonder of Hogwarts, and went into the room.

Percy had been expecting something spectacular and felt a brief flash of disappointment as he drunk in the sight of an empty classroom. An empty classroom with a mirror in the centre. A Mirror that looked oddly out of place in a room full of tables and chairs.

Looking into the Mirror, it was like all his dreams had come true. He was fresh out of Hogwarts, and had a steady job at the Ministry. All his hard work seemed to have paid off, he was finally being recognised. It didn't matter that the price of his success was his relationship with his family.

Grinning, Percy left the room to find Penny, more determined than ever to complete each and every one of his goals.


	20. Aberforth

**A/N: I wrote this when I was bored in Japanese. Anyway, it will be Aberforth Dumbledore. My school had a mini carnival type thing on Thursday. It was quite fun. I ate some fairy floss, but I couldn't finish the whole of the packet I brought because by the time I was half way through I felt sick. Hope you all have a good weekend!**

**Disclaimer: Witty comment goes here.**

When someone you love dies, a piece of you dies with them. It's the same when you're just getting to know someone and they worm their way into your life slowly, and before you know it, you're wondering how you ever lived without them.

The thing is, once they're gone, that's it. There's no going back to say those last good byes, those words never said. Unless of course one of the three following things apply to you. One: There is a portrait of the dead person in existence (a magical one of course). Two, they choose to become a ghost, or three, you happen to be either blessed or cursed – depending on how you look at it – enough to be in possession of the Resurrection Stone.

Only one of these applied to Aberfoth Dumbledore, but even though he had a picture of his sister Ariana that could move and interact with him, it wasn't enough to fill the hole her death had left in his heart.

Albus had told him about the Mirror of Erised and late one night when he knew he would not be found or caught, he went looking for it. Aberforth knew what he would see in the Mirror as soon as he was told about it, but he went anyway. He wished that when he looked into the Mirror, knowing what he would see, it would help or force him to find closure.

He looked at the Mirror and Ariana looked back, as he had known she would. His greatest desire did not come as a surprise to him. Tears shined in his eyes as he smiled weakly at his sister, seeing her happier reflected in a Mirror than she had ever been in life. But she was gone now and for the first time he could see that he was fading along with her, even though he was still alive. Aberforth vowed from then on to stop fading and make Ariana proud.


	21. Cho

**A/N: Stupidly, I can't remember if I've written a piece for Cho Chang or not. Oh well, I'll write one, and if there's already one posted, I'll just add this on. If not, lucky you guys – you get a new chapter! Have you guys heard that apparently Michael Jackson died? I couldn't believe it when I heard, the poor guy…**

**Disclaimer: I have this Lily Allen song stuck in my head. I own as much of that as I do Harry Potter.**

One time, Cho Chang came too early to a DA meeting. She checked that no one was around, as you always had to these days, before pacing in front of the tapestry and wiling the Room of Requirement into existence.

She was expecting their Head Quarters, but as the old adage went, life doesn't always turn out the way you plan. Instead, she was a room that was mostly the same, save for a few differences. It was decorated to suit her tastes, and there was a full length, gold framed mirror against the back wall.

As Cho looked in the Mirror, she felt familiar tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

'C-ced-ric? I th-thought you w-were dead!'

The Cedric in the Mirror nodded to her, as if saying _I am._ Cho was quite confused, understandably. She looked around, searching for some sign that her dead boyfriend was physically there, and not just some creation from her mind, conjured though desperate, wishful thinking. She found none.

Cho tried to form more words, but they would not come, and even if they did, she doubted they would make it past the lump that had risen in her throat. Tears flowed unchecked down her face now, the salty drops tickling as they lingered at her chin before dripping to the floor.

After a few seconds she gulped and partially regained her composure, enough so mutter.

'Are you really there?'

Still with his eyes locked on her, Cedric shook his head.

Cho nodded slowly, understanding that as hard as it may be, she had to leave this false image of the one thing she desperately longed for behind, and in doing so, maybe she'd be able to move on. She started hard at him, memorizing his features, particularly his messy bronze hair.

Then, with a shaky sigh, she turned and left the room to wipe her red rimmed eyes and hide any evidence of what had just gone on, before attending the DAmeeting.


	22. Andromeda

**A/N: Hmmm….I think Andromeda would be a good character choice for this one, don't you? I've just worked out that I'm going to have seen HBP three times in the first week, which my mother thinks is pathetic, but about which I am really excited. What have you guys been up to? I've been completing homework, which I've now done, so I'm officially free for the next…oh, 5 days before school starts again.**

**Disclaimer: Woe to those who don't own HP! Oh, woe to me!**

The Black family motto was toujours pur, which when translated, meant "always/still pure". Sometimes, a young Andromeda questioned whether or not she really was part of that family, because the truth of the matter was: she simply did not fit in. While the rest of the family was pre-occupied with Blood Purity and up holding the family name, Andromeda had a stronger sense of fairness and of what was wrong and what was right. She could clearly see that the way her family acted was not fair, and quite frankly ridiculous, yet she was stuck in their world.

Pondering these things one day, as she walked along the seventh floor corridor, something made her stop walking and jolted her out of her reverie. A door was now before her, where a moment previously there had been no such thing. Andromeda was well accustomed to the strange ways of Hogwarts and how it could change at will, with staircases moving and doors disappearing, but something told her this occasion was different. Something told her she should do something daring for a change, and open the door instead of simply continuing on as she normally would. Whatever that unusual urge was, the girl decided to follow it, grasping the large handle and pushing the door inwards.

She gasped in surprise when she saw the room, even when she had told herself nothing could surprise her about this place anymore.

It was larger than any room Andromeda had ever seen, and her family inhabited a mansion. However, the decorations and objects within were decidedly different from those in her home. Instead of carpeted floors covered by expensive rugs, Andromeda found beneath her feet mahogany floor boards which, though probably quite exquisite a few years back, were now faded and coated with a thin layer of dust. What amazed her most of all though was not the floor or the shelves upon shelves of random items, some which she could recognise and some she could not, but the mirror hidden within the 'maze'.

Setting her dark eyes on the mirror, knowing it was magical, Andromeda wasn't quite sure what she would see. In spite of that, the image reflected back at her was still rather unexpected. Andromeda stood in a house that was apparently hers, and it bore no similarities to her current abode whatsoever. She looked relaxed and content with none of the thoughts that currently plagued her weighing on her mind. Most surprising above all was the person beside her: Ted Tonks. She knew for certain then that the Mirror did not show the future for how could Andromeda end up with someone like Ted Tonks, who was as Muggle born as they come?

_Unless_, a voice buried deep inside her spoke up, _you dared not only to dream, but to act. Unless, you broke away. _At that moment Andromeda knew that that's what she would do – she would break away.


	23. Hagrid

**A/N: This one will be Hagrid, as you can see from the chapter title, because he was the first character that popped into my head. I found a HBP drinking cup at the shops yesterday, which I thought was good, especially considering the shortage of merchandise over here. Are you all looking forward to HBP? Hope you like this and thank you SO much for all your reviews, they make me smile. And smiles are good, they use less muscles than frowning…**

It was Christmas time at Hogwarts, and as usual Hagrid was bringing in the trees that would be used to decorate the Great Hall. In recent years, after Voldemort had been defeated and Hogwarts repaired and reopened, Christmas had taken on a greater significance than it ever had before, not because of the presents, but because the war had brought people closer together, and made them realise just how much they had.

Hagrid enjoyed these times, but they also made him a tad sad, reminding him of all those who had perished during the course of those times, and things he regretted in his own life.

As he stomped towards his hut, taking a longer route because he was reluctant to trudge through the snow, no matter how warm his fireplace would be, he mulled over many things in his mind.

He turned at an unfamiliar sound, and saw a door to his left. Suspecting a prank by one of the more mischievous students, he scanned the immediate area, but saw no one. With a sigh he turned to leave, but curiosity over came him and he opened the door.

He sucked in a surprised breath, forgetting to expel it until he felt dizzy. The reason for his behaviour was directly in front of him. In sequence, like one of those strange things that Muggles called films, his life played out before his eyes. Only it wasn't his life as it had actually been. It was his life as it _could _have been. Everything was the same until his third year, when his dad was supposed to die and Tom Riddle have him expelled. Neither of these things took place.

Tears pricked Hagrid's beetle black eyes and trickled down his cheeks and into his beard as he saw happy memories that were not his own; a boy that was so much like him that it was uncanny, completing his years at Hogwarts and returning each year to his proud, and very much alive, father.

Wrenching his eyes away from the captivating images for a single second, Hagrid saw that the images, memories, whatever they were, were actually images reflected in an old Mirror. Never one to dwell on what could have been, he took one last look at the Mirror, before leaving and never looking back.

Unfortunately, Hagrid's most fervent desire was one that could never take place.


	24. Victoire

**A/N: This will be Victoire (I can never spell that right) for dinosoprano. Have you all seen the HBP movie? I'm going to see it for the third time tonight. To be honest, the first time I saw it, I left the cinema feeling a bit...deflated, even though there was no doubt about the fact that I enjoyed the movie. It was funny, and sad, lighter and yet darker, all at the same time...anyway, hope you like this, and please review! Just 21 more, and we'll be at 200!! Thanks! :D**

**Disclaimer: Tick tock, tick tock, no matter how many times I listen to the chime of the clock I'll never own the HP flock...pretty pathetic excuse for a poem, eh?**

"What's your deepest desire?" The words Teddy whispered in her ear were simple words, but the question did not have a simple answer. It sent her spiralling down, down, into a maze of memories, until she found the one that would answer his enquiry. She was no mind reader, and nor was Teddy, so she used words to paint of picture for him. A picture of a cold winters day, when Victoire Weasley went wandering about the Castle of Hogwarts, and stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised:

_"Hey Vicky, wanna help me write my Transfiguration essay?"_

_"No James, Dear Cousin of Mine, even though I would simply love to help you out, I'm quite busy here, and you really should do your own work," she responded, sounding more like her aunt Hermione than she had intended._

_"Work?" James scoffed, "Like what, staring out at the Lake for another fifteen minutes? Oh, that's very productive."_

_"For your information, I was thinking! And now...now, I'm going for a walk!" She grabbed her bag and stalked out of the Common Room, her head held high._

_James sighed as he watched her go, feeling a twinge of guilt that he may have hurt her feelings, a twigne which disappeared once he cast his eyes back to the empty parchment in front of him._

_"Stupid...cousins...rude...annoying..." Victoire grumbled as she aimlessly toured the castle. James was right, she hadn't actually been doing any work - she'd finished hers ages ago - but she was thinking back to her birthday a few weeks before. Most people look forward to their birthdays, which were a time for celebration. Not Victoire. Sure, she recieved the usual gifts and the usual congratulations on survivng another year, but her birthday was something she dreaded._

_Perhaps it was pure chance, or perhaps subconsciously Vicky knew where she was going, but not long after she set out, she found herself outside a door on the seventh floor corridor. A door which, if the stories were to be believed, was the entrance to the Room of Requirement, and the new home of the Mirror of Erised. Even if the stories were false, anything could lie behind the door. So, without a moments hesitation, she pushed it open._

_The stories were true - she was undoubtedly standing just inside the Room of Requirement. What other room would be decorated as if it had been made just for her? It suited her not only in colour, and style, but also the small details: the roof was not low enough to make her feel closed in, and not high enough to make her feel like she could get lost in the huge world that awaited her. If that weren't enough, incontrivertable proof faced her in the form of the Mirror of Erised._

_She gulped when she saw it, not yet game enough to look into it. She took a few steadying breaths, pushed her silky blonde hair behind her shoulders and stared straight into the reflective surface. It was her birthday, May second, probably only next year, as she looked not much older. It was brilliant. You know why? Because, for Vicky, a birthday wasn't just a day of celebration, it was a day of mourning. She had been born on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, it was the reason for her name - Victoire meant victory in French._

_The scene before her was not one of mourning, as she had grown used to seeing every year. Instead it was, pure and simple, a family gathering where everyone came together and enjoyed themselves. For once, the deaths of all those people, all those fighters, none of whom Victoire had ever met, did not hang over them like a shadow, casting darkness into a place that was meant to be filled with light. That was what she wanted. A birthday that truly _was _a birthday._

That year, she got one.


	25. Ted Tonks

**A/N: This one will be Ted Tonks, for dinosoprano. I honestly don't know why I put the character in here, considering it's in the chapter title, but I guess it's a habit. I went to see My Sister's Keeper on Friday night, and my God did I cry! I knew it was going to be sad, but I was literally sobbing. I'm such a softie. Has anybody read City of Bones? I finished it yesterday, and I really want to read City of Ashes now...how are you all? We're at 190 reviews now, so close to enetering the second century! can we make it before the next chapter? I'd really appreciate it. Okay, now that this has probably sent you all to sleep, I'll get on with the story...**

**Disclaimer: I'm studying Romeo and Juliet in English, and I own as much of that as I do Harry Potter.**

They were sitting at the kitchen table one morning, when Dora was still asleep, when Andromeda asked him an unexpected question.

"Have you ever seen the Mirror of Erised?"

An amused smile crept over Ted's lips as he answered, "Yep, and it's a big part of the reason I'm here now."

Dora looked at him expectantly, resting her chin in her hands as she did when she was getting ready to listen to a story.

"It was in fifth year..." he began, the memory risisng to the fore of his mind when he spoke, as though it was only yesterday.

_Ted Tonks was having one of those days. You know the ones where your self confidence has taken a hit and you just can't be bothered doing anything, and even if you did try something, you'd get it wrong?_

_His friends had all noticed and tried to snap him out of it, with no success._

_"Come on, Ted. We'll play Gobstones. Bet you can't beat be this time!" Normally, he would have eagerly risen to the challenge, but not that day. That day, nothing could snap him out of his mood. Nothing excpet a certain Mirror, that is._

_Ted shook his head, refusing all offers. They all turned away and left, except Carl. "Fine. If you don't want to play, I'll just keep you company for a while. Misery loves company, you know." Ted offered him a grateful smile as they walked out of the courtyard, away from the others. They were both silent as they walked, Ted couldn't be bothered talking and Carl seemed to understand that._

_They walked past and empty classroom, and the door opened and closed of its own accord, squeaking on hinges that obviously hadn't been oiled in what sounded like centuries. "Now that is worse than nails on a black board," Carl remarked, his hands covering his ears._

_"The sound's stopped," Ted told him so he could remove his ears. "But don't you think it's strange, the door moving like that?"_

_"Not really. This is Hogwarts. Things like that happen all the time." Carl, having grown up around magic, didn't find it as fascinating as Ted. Even after five years, small things like that could surprise him and arouse his curiosity. He knew Carl was right, it was probably just Peeves, messing around, but something told him otherwise._

_"You go on," he told his friend, "I want to have a look inside the classroom."_

_With a sigh and a small wave, Carl turned back towards the courtyard, in the direction of his other friends. Ted, on the other hand, entered the empty classroom. Or, to be correct, the nearly empty classroom. It was dimly lit, with only a few desks and chairs left inside, but the thing that made it truly remarkable was the Mirror at the front._

_Gazing into it, Ted saw not his own reflection, but that off someone he knew, and secretly loved. Her name was Andromeda Black. Black was her name, but Ted was sure her soul was very different, unlike that of her sister Bellatrix. Whilst Bellatrix was openly cruel, Andromeda didn't say much, preferring, he thought, to be separate from them and their ways. She just needed someone to rescue her._

I'll be that person, _he thought fiercely, and realised as he did so that his dark mood had lifted, to be replaced with a sense of purpose._

"And there you have it, the story of my encounter with the Mirror of Erised." His wife did not answer immediately, but when she did, she leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips. That simple gesture was enough to convey just how happy she felt, and the feelings that he, if you'll excuse the pun, Mirrored.


	26. Demelza Robbins

**A/N: Well…it's been a while, even after I said updates would come quicker. I'll make a point of not making promises I can't keep from now on. How are you guys? I'm relieved because everything that I'd been doing had been leading up to last week, for some reason, so now it's all over. Until tomorrow, when the assignments start again. This is for Plate Captain, because she requested it ages ago and I've finally got around to writing it. And because she's an absolute whiz at maths and constantly saves me from smashing my calculator against the wall. :D**

**Disclaimer: Let's all celebrate our ownership of nothing HP by writing stories about it! Oh wait…that's what I'm doing!**

All we, as readers of the seven best-selling books about a boy wizard ever knew about Demelza Robbins was that she was a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in Harry Potter's sixth year, and that Ron punched her in the face because he was so nervous. This piece is for anybody who's ever wanted to find out more about this intriguing character. Come take a walk with me, and we will dive headfirst from our world into that of Demelza Robbins.

First off, a few facts that I'm sure you didn't know about her. One: she was a half blood, so she knew a lot more about the muggle world than she let on. Two: Her favourite song was not by the Weird Sisters, like most witches of her age, but by a Muggle band called Green Day. Three: She attended the Yule Ball with Nate River, a Slytherin. Four: Despite what she said, she really did like the freckles that were sprinkled across her face. Five: This is the most surprising of all, and has to do with what she shall see in the Mirror of Erised. Demelza Robbins was evil, as evil as they come.

Why then, I hear you asking, was she in Gryffindor? As well as her darker tendencies, Demelza was very brave, witty and intelligent. She could have belonged to any of the houses, really. Just as in the case of Harry Potter, her placing came down to one thing: her choice. Upon hearing that he was in Gryffindor, she felt her path was set. She would go there too. And so she did.

Demelza didn't work for Lord Voldemort, if that's what you're thinking, although she probably would have, had the opportunity presented itself. Instead, she contented herself with watching and learning, taking in all the tiny things that she as a Gryffindor was privy to, and storing them away, deep in the recess of her mind. She wasn't sure about what she would do with the knowledge; only that she liked the _possession_ of it and the satisfaction that she could take in knowing that all those other people, those spies, those Death Eaters, could never see what she saw.

Miss Robbins, like every other Hogwarts student, had heard of the Mirror of Erised, and like almost every other Hogwarts student, one day stumbled across it while she was walking through the Castle. It was a gloomy day, and Demelza had just returned from Quidditch practise, her dirty boots leaving a trail of mud behind her. She heard a soft _meow_ and her closely set brown eyes locked with those of Mrs Norris. There was no doubt that if caught here, Filch would give her detention, so Demelza quickened her pace, her long red hair coming out of its high ponytail as she ran.

The first door she came across was wrenched open with surprising force and she slammed it shut behind her, leaning against it while she caught her breath. Opening her eyes, she saw the most unexpected of things. Harry Potter was lying dead on the floor, and she, Demelza, was standing over him triumphantly, her wand loosely held in her pale hands. Lord Voldemort was vanquished, Harry Potter slayed, and she reigned supreme.

Mesmerised, Demelza moved towards the scene, but when she reached forward to touch it, her fingers encountered not cold, lifeless flesh, but cold, dusty glass. It was coming from a Mirror. The Mirror of Erised. Some people's dreams just don't come true.


	27. Olive Hornby

**A/N: I was scrolling through the character list on FF just before, and I came across Olive Hornby. And this popped into my head. I'm not sure if it's realistic, but it is what it is, and I hope you like it! What have you guys been up to? I've done pretty much nothing all day, really. Went out for breakfast for Father's Day, which was nice. Anyway, I'll stop rambling, and just say this: if updates are a bit slow in the next few weeks, it's because I'm going on Outward Bound, a sort of school camp thing...**

**Disclaimer: No, for the upteenth time, I don't own HP. I only wish I did... ;D**

Olive Hornby always felt responsible for Moaning Myrtle's death. If she hadn't been teasing her about her glasses, then maybe she wouldn't have gone into that bathroom. Maybe she wouldn't have seen that snake. And maybe, she wouldn't have died.

_Or it could have all happened exactly the same way regardless, _says that annoying voice at the back of her mind. _After all, she did haunt you for years after she died, you had to get a restraining order, for Christs sake! _But that doesn't ease the guilt inside her. Nothing ever seems to, except, perhaps, forgiveness. Something she knows will never come. Even if Myrtle is not allowed near her now, Olive can somehow sense that she is still mad. That somewhere, perhaps in this very castle, in that very toilet where she loved to hide, she's probably moaning, seething with fury that Olive found a way to avoid her.

Feeling a bit nostalgic, Olive had decieded to return breifly to her former school. Each and every room brought a thousand memories to the fore of her mind. Some were good, and some were bad, but all were important. The room that affected her most though, was the empty classroom which held the Mirror of Erised. And it was here that she recalled the worst memory...

_"What's wrong, four eyes, can't you see?" Olive taunted._

_"I can so see, Olive!" Myrtle replied, but she was whispering._

_"Bet you can't! I bet they're going to get you another pair of glasses, so then you'll be six-eyes! Ha ha!"_

_"J-just l-leave me alone, Olive!"_

_"N-no," she mocked, and with that Myrtle turned and sprinted towards the girls bathroom, tears streaking down her face._

_A few hours later, someone reported that they found Myrtle dead in the girls toilets._

Looking into the Mirror, she saw herself, but different. It was as though a weight had been taken off her shoulders. It was at that point that she realised that before she could expect forgiveness from anybody else, she had to forgive herself.


	28. Astoria Greengrass

**A/N: I've actually decided to partly organise myself for this story and make a list of characters so I have somewhere to start, and it's working quite well. I have a few more chapters lined up, which should keep me going for a while... This one will be Astoria Greengrass, sister of Daphnie, and wife of Draco Malfoy, in case you didn't know...**

**Disclaimer: 1 copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: $25.00. 1 Harry Potter poster: $12.95...Wishing that your work could amount to JK Rowling's: PRICELESS! I'm ashamed to say that's not even my disclaimer. Thank you Shelby for letting me borrow it. :)**

"_What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would still smell as sweet_." _- William Shakespeare_

Even though he was a Muggle bard, and she was a pure-blood witch, Astoria had always held a secret fascination for William Shakespeare. She believed that he had a gift that was in itself, almost magical. He had the power of his pen, and his mind. Words were the weapon with which he enthralled his audiences, crafting them carefully, treating each one with the importance it deserved, so that in the end, he had a masterpiece.

Astoria was no poet, she knew that. Yet, she was slightly envious of his talent. It was fair enough to say that she, too possessed talent. The difference between them was that Shakespeare had the confidence in himself, whereas to Astoria, the phrase "self-confidence" was as foreign as The Wiggles. Her mind flitted unwittingly to her sister. Daphnie, her older, charming, beautiful, confident sister, who was everything she was not. Sometimes, Astoria thought, life just wasn't fair.

She sat in her favourite classroom, one that was, as far as she knew, old and unused. She had come here seeking solace, and an escape from the bustling, chaotic world outside, however breif that escape may be. She noticed, for the first time, a curtain in the corner of the room that seemed to be covering something. Curiosity overpowering the need to sit and think, she slid gracefully from the table on which she had been sitting, her tiny feet making not a sound as they hit the ground.

Astoria walked forward and pulled the curtain, unleashing clouds of dust as she did so. Coughing, she closed her eyes to sheild them from the tiny particles, and opened them a few seconds later. She flinched when she saw her own slightly slanted eyes looking back at her. This was an older version of herself, she guessed. After looking again, doubts rose in her mind. Was it really an older version of her? Or was it just the straight back and wide smile that made it seem so? Coupled with the twinkle of hapiness that was usually absent from her distant blue eyes, it seemed like a plusible possibility.

What she saw was the person she longed to be. Similar to her sister and yet different. Carving her own path through the world that already had a path marked out. Nonetheless, it was what she realised that day that was most important.

What she realised, after studying her reflected image, was that like her, William Shakespeare had dreams. And, like her, he had to work to achieve them. And achieve them he did. Suddenly, all her wishes didn't seem quite so out of reach anymore. Smiling, she pushed her honey coloured hair off her shoulders and walked out of the room, feeling light as a feather.


	29. Arabella Figg

**A/N: Hi, everybody! How are we all? I just finished a book called Thirteen Reasons Why, and I found it quite thought provoking. There should be more books like that, I think. This one will be Arabella Figg, just to repeat what the chapter title states... I'd just like to say a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed/Alerted this story - the fact that people think it good enough (or bad enough, I suppose) to warrant that is much appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: Dumbledore said that the happiest person in the world could look into the Mirror of Erised and want for not a single thing. I own what that person wants.**

You know how, when there's a joke going around at school or at work or anywhere, really, and everyone whispers about it? There's one person not in on it, and that person is the butt of the joke, shunned and sidelined, until the incident passes and is replaced with another. And there's no doubt that it will pass, but at that moment, it's difficult to bring yourself away from the situation, to think rationally when all you hear is the hiss of devious voices, and all you feel is that you don't belong.

For Arabella Figg, that feeling was a constant, something she could not escape. In the world of wizards, she was unwelcome, privy to the secrets of magic, but unable to use it. In the Muggle world, her knowledge weighed down upon her, and sometimes she wished she could just shout at them – how could they not see what was right before their very eyes? The answer she knew, was a simple one: they were blind to what they did not want to see.

Yet by that same token, Mrs Figg was envious of the Muggles. To them, magic was something you read about in fairytales, or laughed at when a magician pulled a rabbit from a hat. To them, the idea of a wizard like Voldemort was completely foreign, beyond comprehension or imagination. How fortunate they were, and they could never know.

They say that life is balancing act, and Arabella thought the saying applied more to her than to anyone else. For who else could know the terrible loneliness of existing in two worlds, but living in neither?

Strangely enough, Albus Dumbledore had seemed to sense her emotions. They never spoke of it, but there was one incident that proved that he knew, or at least emphasised. And he wanted her to know that he knew, to provide some comfort or consolation – a bittersweet glimpse of what could have been.

_"Good evening Arabella, and thank you for coming here tonight," Dumbledore said, watching her from the other side of his desk._

_"It was my pleasure, Albus, I've always wanted to see Hogwarts. But I assume you invited me here for a reason?"_

_"You assume correctly. You are aware, of course, of the recent deaths of Lily and James Potter?"_

_She nodded, an expression of sadness passing over her face, and he continued._

_"Their son Harry survived, and is now going to be living with his Muggle relatives. However, I cannot watch him all the time he is there."_

_"You want me to take up residence near them and keep an eye on him?"_

_"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, allowing himself a small smile at her shrewdness._

_"Not a problem, it'll give me something to do, at any rate. Now, if that's all..." she began to stand up and prepare to leave._

_"There is…one more thing, if you will come with me?" He rose and went to the door, graciously holding it open for her._

_A slight frown the only sign of her inner confusion, she descended the stairs. As he led her through the silent corridors, she asked, "Where are you taking me, Albus?"_

_"Oh, there's just something I think you'd like to see," he replied cryptically, and she could picture the way his eyes would sparkle in amusement behind his half moon spectacles. _

_When they arrived at their destination, she turned to look at him. "An empty classroom? Really Dumbledore, I don't think…"_

_"Just take a look inside."_

_She did, and as she caught sight of the Mirror and looked inside, he saw he face light up in wonder making her look ten years younger, and he knew it had been the right thing to do._

_"What is it?" She enquired, her voice a breathless whisper._

_"It is the Mirror of Erised." And nothing else needed to be said._

In the Mirror of Erised, Mrs. Figg saw herself as she longed to be – a true part of the world in which she was forever sidelined. She wasn't sure if that made her a Muggle or a witch, and she didn't really care. Because she belonged.

**A/N: Wow, that sounded like something out of a Disney movie. I hope you liked it, anyway.**


	30. Argus Filch

**Author's Note: How are we all? Hopefully well. Can I just say a big thank you to everyone who reviewed/Alerted/Favourited this story, it is much appreciated! Has anyone seen Ballet Shoes, you know the movie with Emma Watson? I watched it last night, and although Emma's acting was superb, I believe it ended rather abruptly. Please, if you're just reading and not reviewing this, do review, even if you hate it. It would be helpful for me to know why, and how I could improve my writing.**

**Disclaimer: After that rather long Author's Note, I won't bore you further with a long version of: I do not own Harry Potter.**

Lonely and alone are two similar, and yet very different words. Lonely, according to the Free Online Dictionary, means "without companions, or dejected by the feeling of being alone." Alone, on the other hand, means "Being (or to be) apart from other, solitary." To be alone is a physical thing, without company. Lonely is a feeling, the harsh awareness of being alone. These two things when felt in tandem, as they so often are, (unless you are a hermit) can be quite sorrow inducing. Such was the case for Argus Filch, caretaker of Hogwarts School.

Filch was known to all the students as someone to avoid, a bitter, angry middle aged man. He walked with a limp, which Poppy Pomfrey could probably have fixed in a heartbeat, if he asked her, but he did not. He preferred to live as he did, for when he limped, he was provided with a physical reminder of why he felt the way he did. It was something to cling to when, late at night, somewhere between getting lost in an alcohol induced stupor and the tantilising recollection of what it was like to be happy, he questioned himself.

He questioned why, when he was alive, with a job and even Mrs. Norris his beloved cat, in a better situation than some others would ever be, he still felt the way he did. And then the drink would take control and he would listen to that ugly voice in the back of his mind, the one that reared its head most often when a student offered a biting, witty remark. The voice that salvaged the last of his pride to have him be angry instead of sad, to make him yell instead of cry, and make him keep going when all he wanted to do was sit and let life take him where it will.

'You are lonely and bitter, yes,' the voice would say, 'but what those students failed to consider was _why._ Wouldn't you be lonely if your company consisted solely of a tabby cat, and Rosmerta's finest mead?'

Now, as Argus Filch gazed into the depths of the Mirror of Erised, his eyes wide, as though he thought that by gazing at it with all his strength he could make the illusion real, all that came rushing to the fore of his mind. He felt the pain of his parents' death like it had happened all over again. The disappointment they struggled to hide behind an exterior of cheery smiles and encouragement. The raging sea of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, until his eyes found the Mirror again, until he could convince himself that maybe, just maybe, it could be real.

For what he had always wanted, all he had ever truly yearned for was, to quote Anne of Green Gables, to find "a kindred spirit." Someone who would smile to see him in the evenings, would greet him and ask:

"How are you?" Or, dare he even think it -

"I love you."

For everyone needs company at some point, do we not? And who knows what Fate has in store for Dear Mr Filch? Perhaps, company will be right around the corner...

**A/N: Phew, I could see another Disney ending coming on there, hopefully I avoided it well enough. And hopefully, you enjoyed this. Thank you for reading.**


	31. Bathsheda Babbling

**Author's Note: It takes up more words if you write the full thing instead of A/N. These are short enough as it is, why make them shorter? I'm trying to overcome a bout of writer's block, so forgive me if this is worse than usual. In other news, I really don't like hot weather. Thank you for all the reviews I received last chapter, I was really happy! xD Now, on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: It's becoming harder and harder to think of these…Let's see…brown eyes, a highly developed sense of irony, the pink PJ's I'm wearing…there's a watered down list of things I own. Notice what's missing?**

Languages are fascinating, don't you think? There are so many of them – so many dialects and words to master. To say nothing of what inflection of emphasis can do to the meaning or interpretation of a word.

Naturally, the post of Ancient Runes teacher at Hogwarts would be filled by someone with an appreciation at the very least, of languages. For that reason, Bathsheda Babbling applied for, and won the job. Even her name was fitting – she was always babbling on about this or that. Sometimes, she would get so accustomed to a language that she would slip back and forth in the middle of a sentence.

Her students often found that confusing, but respected her vast pool of knowledge nonetheless. When it came down to it, that's all it was: facts that she could easily read, and master.

On the night of the Yule Ball, Bathsheda was sitting quite close to Dumbledore, and so was able to overhear parts of conversation that went something like this:

"…do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our schools secrets, and right to protect them?" Igor Karkaroff was saying.

Dumbledore replied in his usual calm manner, "Oh, I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor. Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the three quarter moon – or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder."

The words triggered a memory for Bathsheda – a conversation she had overheard among the house elves, about a room called the Room of Requirement. Could this possibly be the room that Dumbledore had stumbled upon? It seemed a plausible guess – he was seeking a toilet, and the room provided chamber pots. Close enough.

A few nights later, she went looking for the room, wondering what it would turn into for her. She wasn't sure what she did, but after a lot of hoping, and a lot of apparently futile searching, a door appeared.

She felt a thrill of excitement, which vanished when she saw she was in an empty classroom. Was she really that boring?

Ms Babbling found the room to be not quite as empty as she had originally thought. Still, an old mirror with a nonsense inscription wasn't much improvement.

_No, not nonsense, _she amended. _Everything has a meaning. It's just that sometimes, that meaning is harder to figure out._

She stared at the text for a while. It was English, she knew that much. The words were on top of a mirror –

Of course! A mirror reflects everything, makes it come out backwards! With that, the meaning of the inscription became clear. As did a mounting sense of reluctance to gaze into the Mirror itself. She was afraid of what she would see.

In an uncharacteristic action, she gathered her courage and looked down. She was looking at a different Bathsheda. This Bathsheda wasn't afraid of change, like she was. This Bathsheda wasn't afraid of going outside her comfort zone, like she was. This Bathsheda was everything she wished she could be, was doing everything she wished she could do. Most notably, earning a deeper understanding of the languages she loved.

A sudden desire to be this person assuaged her. It was not too late, she reckoned. Sure, she was pushing forty, and a few greys had managed to sneak their way into her otherwise dark brown hair.

She wasn't beyond adventure, because adventure _has_ no age limit.


	32. Charity Burbage

**Authors Note: It's been so long since I've updated, I won't be surprised if a lot of you have forgotten me! I certainly hope not, for I appreciate each and every one of you, my lovely readers! We've been hearing a lot about the Special Editions of PS and CoS DVD's lately. Personally, I won't be buying them, since I already have all the movies on DVD, but I was wondering what you guys thought? Hope you like this!**

**Disclaimer: Real authors make money. I on the other hand, thrive on reviews. Go figure.**

_"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men and women to do nothing." – Edmund Burke_

The word Charity can be defined as "the giving of help, money, food etc. to those in need," "a kindly and lenient attitude towards people," and "love of ones fellow man." All very positive things, wouldn't you say?

Names are very important things; they give one meaning, an identity, something with which they shape the rest of their lives. In the case of Charity Burbage, her given name suited her right from day dot. As Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts, and a Half-Blood at that, Charity was, of course, against the notion of blood superiority, and to say that she voiced her opinion would be an understatement.

She was "charity" in physical form. Of Irish descent, she and her parents before her had attended Hogwarts, as would her younger brother Chris, in a few years time. Whenever one of her students felt stressed about their workload, or a test, or about anything really, she would go out of her way to calm them down. In her teaching and marking, she was critical yet fair and so gained the respect of everyone but the Slytherins

In this world where there is so little of those ready to stand up for what they believe in, to lend a helping hand to those who need it, the few there are deserve to be acknowledged. Makes you think, doesn't it? What would happen if those few people were no longer there? No one to say hello and offer a kind smile that might just summon a smile back, might just in that very same action, save someone from themselves.

No one to fight for what was right, so that upon the total reign of evil and disappearance of all that was once good, the two became indistinguishable. For really, just as Dumbledore could not be truly removed from Hogwarts when there were still those who remembered and were loyal to him, so good can never truly leave the world when there are still those ready to fight for it.

Charity Burbage, our focal point for today, was one of those ready to fight for what she believed in. And in the end, she lost her life for it. Beforehand, however, she went wandering the Castle of Hogwarts one night, searching for answers to the many questions running through her mind. Miss Burbage was only one in a long line of Hogwarts staff and students to come across the Mirror of Erised.

Miss Burbage had heard tales of such a Mirror, but she had refused to believe it until the proof was before her own eyes, and lo and behold, there it was. She had seen the golden frame first of all and, understanding what she was looking at, quickly averted her eyes, lest she be appalled by what she saw.

She needn't have worried, for before her was a scene of perfect harmony. There was no direct clue that You-Know-Who had been defeated, but it could be seen in the expressions of those shown – ordinary people, whose faces were alive with relief and delight, rather than the now familiar panic-stricken, paranoid looks. Even the Heavens celebrated the triumph of good over evil as the sun shone brightly against a canvas of blue.

_So this is what it could be like…_

Charity turned away from the Mirror, mindful of the way it could trap those who looked at it; but she left feeling far lighter than she had before, with a tiny spark of hope alight in her heart.

_The future_, she reflected, _is always uncertain. It's just that we only really grasp the magnitude of it when we're faced with something so fear-inducing, so different to anything we've ever felt or done before that it literally feels as though we're walking blind._

**A/N: As I said, I hope you liked it! Regardless, reviews would be appreciated. :) For those of you who didn't know, Charity is the woman who was killed by Voldemort at the start of DH, and Chris isn't mentioned in the series, I just made him up…**


	33. Pandora Lovegood

**Author's Note: Who shall look in the Mirror this time? Pandora Lovegood (Luna's mother), the Price is Right! Come on down! Sorry, I just had an urge to type that. I haven't seen the Price is Right in ages. It wasn't that good a show, truth be told. Meaning no offence to anyone who liked it… Thank you to yellow 14, I love Neville, htbookreader1, dreamer_4_life, L.A.H.H. and cyiusblack for reviewing the last chapter! Much appreciated! :D**

**Disclaimer: Yes everyone, I'm the proud owner of Harry Potter. Now you'll have to excuse me, JK Rowling is on her way to murder me…**

Scars tell a story; they are physical proof of an incident that otherwise may be lost in the layers of memory, never to be recovered again. Some stories though, some stories should never be told.

There were some days when Pandora Saunders could not get out of bed. She had classes to attend, and homework to hand in but it all seemed so trivial and meaningless. Things that usually made her laugh appeared shallow and stupid on days like this – days when depression took hold. She felt as though she were no longer there, not dead, exactly, but not alive either. She was numb, desperately needing to _feel _something.

And so, Pandora reached over and grabbed her scissors, or whatever sharp object she happened to have within easy access, and placed it on her skin. She would cut until the blood rose to the surface, a bright splash of colour against the pale canvas of her skin. She would stop when she could feel the pain, could honestly tell herself that she was _real._ Her scars could never fade because it felt as though if they did, she would fade with them.

She remembered one time, when she had nearly been found out. Her heart had sped up, beating hard and fast against her ribcage and she was surprised no one heard it and asked if she had a heart defect.

_It was a warm day, and Pandora hated warm days, because they called for short sleeves and short pants, something she could never wear. It made her uncomfortable, and it made others uncomfortable too._

_"Dora," her friend Gina asked her one day, why are you wearing that long top? It's boiling, surely you must feel the heat?"_

_"Nope, I'm fine," she answered with an unconvincing smile, fighting down the familiar sense of dread that arose whenever people questioned her like this._

_"Are you sure? You can borrow one of my T-shirts if you like." Gina was persistent, to say the least._

_"Yes, I'm certain Gina, really." Pandora was becoming impatient._

_"Tie your hair up, if nothing else."_

_"Fine," she sighed, reaching up to assemble her scraggly blonde hair. As she did so, her sleeve slipped, revealing a thin horizontal cut on her arm._

_Gina's eyes widened in shock and sympathy. "What's that?"_

_"That? Oh, that's nothing…my cat got a bit angry one day and, as you can see, he has very sharp claws…" She hoped Dora could not see her palms sweating – that always happened when she lied, and it seemed lying was becoming a permanent part of her day._

_"Oh, okay. I really think your cat is a bit wild. Where did you get it again?"_

_Gina prattled on, but Pandora wasn't listening, far more relieved that she had escaped detection once again… _

If she was so afraid of being found out, if she worked so hard to keep her biggest secret, then why did the Mirror show her that? Why was she wearing a T-Shirt, her failures on show for the world to see? No one was mocking her, scorning her – in fact, they acted as though there were nothing wrong.

_Maybe, _she allowed herself to think_, this is what you've been waiting for all along._

**A/N: Pandora isn't Luna's mothers actual name, I just used it in another fic, and thought it would do well enough for this one too. If anyone knows her real name, I would appreciate it if you could let me know…Also, this one isn't very nice, I know but I'd like to think that as well as exploring Death, the most obvious avenue, this story delves into other issues, too. Plus, I was in a bad mood. Hope you like it anyway…**


	34. Amos Diggory

**Author's Note: Another weekend is here. At the moment, at least. It may be gone by the time I actually get around to posting this, but no matter. Another question for you all - least favourite book? This one is about...Amos Diggory. Thank you to Plate Captain, yellow 14, The Marauders Are Awesome, oceanlover14 and L.A.H.H. for reviewing!**  
**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related products are by no means mine. **

Amos Diggory saw himself as many things. He was tall, if you were talking physically, with small brown eyes, and a stomach that had gotten out of hand. He worked at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures. He was a friend, a son, an employee and a husband, but most of all, he was a parent.

Before the Tournament started, Cedric took himself and Brenda (his wife) on a tour of Hogwarts. They talked of everything, and nothing. Everything in that they covered a wide range of subjects, from the price of new robes to the weather, and nothing in that they all studiously avoided the reason they were here. It was easier, Amos decided, to skate the surface of things and chatter away mindlessly, because then they could pretend. Which was all well and good for a while, but pretend worlds are like ginger bread houses – eventually, they come tumbling down.

Suddenly, Amos felt claustrophobic, despite the high roof and wide hallways of Hogwarts. His wife and son were playing verbal tennis, hitting harder and faster each time. He didn't want to be there when the ball dropped.

"I need some air," he said shortly, walking off before Cedric or Brenda had a chance to reply.

He did need some air, and even though heading outside would be more appropriate, he stayed within its walls glad that he had some time on his own. Can anyone guess what magical artefact he came across?

* * *

It was late afternoon when the sun was at its brightest, readying itself for descent to the west, and the third task of the TriWizard Tournament was about to begin.

"I'm nervous," Cedric admitted. That much was obvious, if not in his agitated pacing, then in the corpse-like pallor of his skin.

"I'd call you a fool if you weren't." Amos replied, wishing he had the words to reassure his son.

"What if…?" He couldn't finish the sentence, and he didn't need to. Imagination did that for him, conjuring up all sorts of terrible images. Unknowingly, Amos Diggory spoke his final words to his son.

"Whatever happens, remember that I'll be proud of you." The words were the truth, and came from the heart, no matter what the Mirror showed.

* * *

As a towering wall of grief hit him, stunned as he was with the realisation of the loss of the person he held most dear, he understood something.

What he knew now was that your hearts desire can change in a single instant. Five hours ago, looking into the Mirror he saw Cedric winning, saw him with pride in his eyes, pride that was usually absent. Now, all he wanted, all he desperately needed was for his son to breathe, to be safe in the knowledge that Cedric would take one more breath.

There was no safety anymore. There were no illusions. His mind wandered unbidden back to the moments just after Harry and Cedric had returned from the graveyard. Two boys – one dead, one looking like he would prefer to be.

_His wife sobbed uncontrollably beside him, but he could not hear her. He could not hear anything, encased as he was in a bubble of his own sorrow. That was until he heard eight words that shook him to the core._

_"He's back – Voldemort, he's returned! He killed Cedric!" The voice was hoarse, cracking at the sobs that were barely suppressed._

_And then came the reactions._

_"What did he say? You-Know-Who, returned? That's impossible!"_

_"Is that – C-cedric? NO! Nooooo…"_

There were sounds of doubt at what Potter was saying that - Voldemort had returned. (He cringed even thinking the name). It seemed unlikely, yes, and no one wanted to believe it, but seeing that poor boy, the pain he could not hide, there was no doubt in Amos Diggory's mind.

He was back; the one feared above all others. The one responsible for the death of his son. Swallowing the lump in his throat, and blinking back the tears that formed in his eyes, he vowed, _come Hell or high water that bastard will fall. I may not be the one to strike the final blow, but I'll do what I can._

**A/N: Sorry about the language. Not something I agree with, but I can see someone who's just lost his son needing to swear, to vent just a little. Reviews would make my day. :)**


	35. Firenze

**A/N: I took a look through the character list, and eventually decided on writing a piece about everyones favourite centaur Firenze. Not sure how it turned out, but hopefully well. Following the previous question: favourite author, anyone? Besides JKR, that is. Mine, as of now (it may change) would have to be Jodi Picoult. In case I don't update before then, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas, and a brilliant New Year! Your help and support of my writing has been greatly appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: I make no profit of any sort from these fan fictions stories. Unless you count reviews, which are a great help in improving my writing.**

_The aging wizard strode purposefully but slowly through the winding, overgrown trails of the Forbidden Forest. Instantly, the centaurs were on edge, bow and arrows raised, ready to fire._

_The trees parted, and Dumbledore emerged, pulling a wayward twig from his beard, with a friendly smile pasted on his face all the while as though he were not aware of all the weapons raised against him._

_"Bane! And Firenze, too. My, the herd has certainly grown since we last spoke." His tone indicated that this delighted him enormously._

_The centaurs did not reply. Bane stared at Dumbledore without blinking, as if waiting for him to get to the point, and Firenze offered him a tiny smile when they others weren't looking._

_"I see that you are not happy about my presence here. Might I ask you to please lower your weapons, for I mean you no harm. As a matter of fact, I have come to speak to Firenze."_

_Bane's tail swished back and fro. "What you can say to one of us, you can say to all of us," he said through tightly clenched teeth. A few of the herd nodded in agreement._

_"Quite a show of loyalty, Bane, if that's really what it is. Very well. Firenze," Dumbledore switched his gaze to the centaur in question, "you are aware, I presume, of the fact that Hogwarts has a newly appointed High Inquisitor?" At the utterance of Umbridge's position bane let out a snort, but Dumbledore's blue eyes did not move from Firenze as he continued._

_"I believe that I and so Hogwarts, by extension, have always been on good terms with those of you who choose to reside in the Forest, and that is the reason why I have come to ask a favour of you."_

_"Favour? What could a centaur have to offer the likes of humans?"_

_"Allow me to continue Bane, and you shall find out. Professor Umbridge has made it her personal duty to get rid of the teachers whose work, in her opinion, is not up to standard, and so I find myself in need of a Divination teacher."_

_Bane opened his mouth to protest, but Firenze got there first. "Of course Dumbledore, I would be glad to help."_

And that was how he found himself, not a few weeks later as a teacher. At a school of witches and wizards no less. Most importantly, he found out just how hard it is to stand up for what you believe in when there are few who back you, and even more whose every actions are designed to taunt you and belittle you until you want nothing more than to surrender.

It's not easy being cut off from your family, from your culture, and the only life you know. There is a temptation, oh so hard to resist, to run back and apologise, to beg for forgiveness, if only to alleviate the suffocating sense of being utterly alone, even in a room full of people. But Firenze resists – deep down he knows that even if he ever did give in (and sometimes this seems like a real possibility) he would regret it immensely.

Returning to the forest meant telling them, his family that he had been wrong. Admitting you are wrong is difficult under any circumstances; even more so when you are innocent of everything save doing what you thought was right. Who are they – who are anybody – to condemn someone for taking the path no one else would dare to tread?

He told no one of the inner musings of his mind (indeed, who would there be to tell?) and hid them behind a constant mask of…well, some would call it aloofness, but he called it distant contentment.

Firenze remembered the words Dumbledore had spoken to him when he showed him his new quarters, enchanted to be an almost perfect replica of his home.

"This will be hard for you, I know. All I can tell you is that if you look into your heart and trust what it shows you, you will find the strength to continue."

The words had puzzled Firenze for a while – centaurs, though renowned for their cryptic message, dealt with the stars and the sky, and were not accustomed to strange riddles such as those. In his own way, Firenze reflected, Dumbledore himself is as much an enigma as centaurs with their dire warnings.

When night time came (well, night time as far as he could tell; there were no windows in the room), Firenze was still puzzling out what Dumbledore had said. Funnily enough, it was when he stopped trying to decipher them and took a closer look at the room that the answer was quite literally staring him in the face.

The centaurs like the House Elves and practically every other magical creature in and around Hogwarts had heard of the Mirror of Erised, or the Mirror of Desire, as it was sometimes called, but Firenze had never expected to get the chance to experience it for himself.

He was back with the herd – that much was obvious in that though he was alone, the Forest surrounded him. It was the actual forest, not the carbon copy Dumbledore had created, and he could tell because it hummed with life that no other could ever possess. He hadn't admitted being wrong – the telltale guilty expression he knew he would wear was absent. No, this was something else, something Firenze had only briefly allowed himself to hope - the war was over! Not only that, the centaurs had come to see, as Firenze did, that humans for all their flaws and folly, were not so bad after all.

Yes, the Mirror of Erised shows ones deepest desires, but if you're lucky enough sometimes, sometimes it shows the future, too.

**A/N: Reviews would make a really nice early Christmas present. ;D Hope you all liked this chapter! **


	36. Bertram Aubrey

**Author's Note: Christmas is over. Isn't it amazing how times escapes us like that? Did you all have a good time? I hope so! I finally got HBP on DVD, so I'm going to watch it as soon as possible. My heartfelt thanks to htbookreader1, yellow 14, glowwyrm and L.A.H.H. for reviewing the last chapter! Not sure if I've said this before, but if you're just reading and not reviewing, please leave a review even if you hate it, just so I know what you think, and can take it on board to improve my writing.**  
**Disclaimer: DVDs, books, a calendar...but sadly, no Harry Potter rights. Santa has let me down, again!**

"Jerks...arrogant, self-obsessed pinheads...idiots..."

"Is everything alright, Mr Aubrey?" An enquiring voice came from above, interrupting his almost self conscious chanting.

"Oh yes thank you Professor Kettleburn," Bertram said, mustering an unconvincing smile and hoping he would go away.

"Well okay then, if you're sure..." he trailed off awkwardly. A few moments later he turned and limped away, concern evident on his wrinkled face.

Left to his own devices, Bertram continued his observation of, in his opinion, the Devil's gift to Hogwarts (in addition to the Death-Eaters in training, that is). James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. Well not so much Lupin, to his credit, whenever his friends did something that would be considered nasty, he made sure to keep out of it. Still, he never intervened, did he?

They strutted around the school as if they owned the place, even though they hadn't yet reached fifth year. The Marauders. Who did they think they were, giving themselves a name like that? He made a scathing noise in the back of his throat, grateful there was no one around to hear him.

Cool, calm and collected. The older students respected them, the younger students idolised them, and their year level all secretly hoped that one day, they might be included in the exclusive group. All, with the sinlge exception of those few in the minority who were not friends, or even distance acquaintances, but prey. A little fun, to taunt and toy with until they grew bored and moved on.

Can you imagine? A 14 year old boy, scarcely able to be called a young man, who is terrified to get up and face the day because of what it might bring. Not because of an abusive parent, or poverty, or overwhelming greif, but of humiliation. Because that's what the Marauders, or bullies, if you wanted to give them a proper name, did.

Can you hear it? The harsh words that have more effect than a hex or a punch ever could. Because sometimes, even when sticks and stones don't break your bones, words might be the last straw. Spells and fists might hurt you physically, but words wore away at your spirit, the very thing that makes _you._And then, when the ringleaders are done and gone, there's an awkward silence and no one knows what to say, each of them thinking the same thing: I'm glad it wasn't me.

Can you see it? The tantalising glimpse of hapiness, of freedom from this peer induced slavery. It's so close you can taste it on your tongue, yet somehow its always beyond the reach of your fingertips. If only you had reacted a little quicker... Their faces, James, casual as can be, like he was taking a walk in the park with Bertie, instead of destroying his adolescence. Siruis, laughing uproariously, as though life was one big joke. Remus, uneasy, but unwilling to say so in front of his only real friends, lest he ruin the fragile bonds he couldn't believe, even now, truly existed. And finally, Peter. The others possessed a childish malice, harmless by comparison to the dark hunger that was masked behind a volley of cruel words that, when uttered sounded as though they did not belong to the mouth from whence they had come.  
Then there was the crowd, the enraptured audience, fearful and yet fascinated. All the faces blurred into one, and became like a red flag to a bull. A bull who was unable to charge, magical bonds proving to be a far better cage then any fence.

Can you feel it? The complete and utter degredation of being caught in an unending cycle of embarrassment and mockery, until it all becomes too much, and you cease to feel at all. Emotions become foreign things, only recognised in the face of an honest tragedy and even then they feel strange, as though there is water coursing through your veins and not blood.

When Bertram Aubrey unknowingly gazed into the Mirror of Erised one afternoon, he expected to be confronted with the sad being that was him. A permanenetly flushed round face that made his already small ears seem even smaller and his head even bigger. (He remembered Sirius nonchalantly remakring that despite the fact that he had supposedly enlarged it to twice its normal size, he could not tell the difference.) Small, black eyes, short arms and short legs. He never tried to lie to himself about his appearance.

Yet even he was surprised when instead he saw a scene that was eeriely similar to the story of his life, with a single crucial difference: though there was a bully and a victim, and a crowd, this time the roles were reversed, and the outcomes were decidedly more unpleasant. Namely, death. He saw himself killing James Potter and Sirius Black. Not in a very nice manner, either. As each blow was struck, he imagined what he would think, what he would say.

"This one is for doubling the size of my head." _Levicorpus._

"This one is for breaking my book bag." _Langlock._

"This one is for making me cry." _Stupefy._

"This one is for existing." _Sectumsempra._

The hunter becomes the hunted.

All things considered, he did not find it strange, nor was he surprised when he felt a pang of guilt about what he saw in the Mirror upon hearing about the untimely deaths of his former tormentors. Yet at the same time, there was a sense of cruel satisfaction - karma is inescapable, for what you give out comes back to you tenfold.


	37. Narcissa Malfoy

**Author's Note: Happy New Year everyone, as of 20 days ago. Hope you're all well. My excuse for not updating in a while is that I was on holiday. But now I'm back. Thank you heaps to Eruwaedhier Telemnar, Plate Captain, Lady Eleanor Boleyn, yellow 14, htbookreader1 and L.A.H.H. for reviewing the last chapter! One more thing: Thank you again to Lady Eleanor Boleyn, who requested one of the Black sisters.**

**Disclaimer: enim ton si rettoP yrraH…. stick that in front of a Mirror, and I think we all know what it'll say.**

During the 1997-1998 school year, if were being honest, the students wouldn't have learnt much. Well, not much in the way of education, that is. Surviving war, pain and loss, they'd learnt one heck of a lot about that. Narcissa Malfoy knew this, and she did not want Draco to be sent to Hogwarts under such conditions. However, as with many other things in her life at this time, it was not her choice. The decision was made for her.

So, desperate to lay eyes on her son, to ascertain for herself that he was alive and as well as possible under the circumstances, she would invent reasons to go to Hogwarts. Severus, sensing her anxiety, did whatever he could to help.

"What's wrong with you, Cissy? If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't happy the Dark Lord was winning the war." The voice was filled with a false kindness, eager to invite a confession that would be betrayed as soon as it had been uttered.

"Well then Bella, it's good that you do know better, isn't it? Especially considering that we're sisters. Not that family bonds seem to mean much to you anymore, if they ever meant anything at all."

"Family, sister dear, only remain so if they prove their worth, but most importantly, if they're pure, set on the right path, and don't disgrace the family name, like _she _did." Their other sister was never mentioned by name, and if she ever was mentioned, it was by the use of a pronoun, for nothing could tie them to a blood traitor. "You should not be so worried about Draco. He is growing up in the best way possible...under the eye of the Dark Lord." A smile curved her lips as she spoke the last two words, but Narcissa has to supress a shudder.

"Be that as it may, I must go to Hogwarts. The Carrows do not appear to be enforcing discipline to a satisfactory standard, and I have agreed to pay them a visit." It was a lie, but still carefully phrased and thought out, so that Bella wouldn't bother to check its authenticity.

"On Snape's orders, no doubt. The ugly headmaster. I don't trust him Cissy, and you shouldn't either." A warning was hidden in those words. They may have sounded like sisterly advice, but nothing was ever what it seemed with Bellatrix.

Nodding, Narcissa turned and left the room, her black robes billowing behind her.

She did not go far, merely to the living room, where a fireplace stood as though in wait for someone to clear away the cobwebs and light it up again. Not likely, in present circumstances. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the grate, the younger Black sister stepped into the Emerald flames, announcing her destination to the empty room. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office."

And then she was spinning; faster and faster, sights and sounds and motion becoming but a blur as she hurtled along. She did not mind travelling via Floo Powder these days. It used to irritate her, the feeling that no matter what she did, or which way she moved, things would still be out of her control until she came to a halt. Nowadays, she secretly thought it was a metaphor for her life.

When you're in such a situation, one in which you weild little to no power, you cling to what you have. You are a planet out of orbit, searching for the sun to find your way. You are a tuna swimming forwards in the midst of a tsunami, waiting for the chaos to abate, slowly losing hope that it ever will. Narcissa Malfoy, in a figurative, and sometimes literal sense, clung to her son.

"Severus," she said, still breathless from her trip, "I hope all is well?"

"As well as can be hoped, with those pesky Gryffindors creating turmoil at every turn," he greeted her without so much as a hello.

She tried to think of something appropriate to say, but she was never very good in these situations, so she settled with, "They'll give up after a while." Having said that, she made a hasty exit, determinedly not looking at the portraits on the walls, most of which were glaring at her.

Draco would be in class, no doubt. There was nothing here for her to do, but she did not want to leave without having done anything, and so she walked, thinking as she did so. Hogwarts, which once had pulsed with life and laughter, now sat cold and dark, as though it resented its new masters. Narcissa did not feel safe, but that did not come as surprise to her. She would not have felt safe even if she was on another planet, in another universe, surrounded by the most complex of protective charms. How could she feel safe? There was a war raging, and everyone knew it, even if the Dark Lords reign had been mostly cloak and dagger.

When evil emerges, people don't need to be told outright. There is an unspoken consensus, a primitive feeling with no name. That tiny voice inside your head that urges you to _run _even when there is no apparent enemy. With a shaky sigh, Narcissa tried to banish such thoughts, ashamed to feel the pricking at the back of her eyes which signalled unshed tears. If she cried, her mascara would run, and she would look ridiculous. In the next moment, she was suprised that such a trivial thing could matter at a time like this. But then again, perhaps it was only these trivial details that kept her sane.

She looked around with a start, only now conscious of the fact that she had no idea where her feet had taken her. Nowhere too dangerous, she was relieved to discover; just an empty classroom.

Yet empty class rooms don't usually have gorgeous full length mirrors at the front, do they? This would be the perfect place to check her appearance before she returned home or saw her son, depending on whether it was lunch time or not.

_Hang on..._something niggled at the back of her mind when she looked at the Mirror, something she was forgetting. Of course! The Mirror of Erised - Draco had told her about it once in confidence, way back when you could actually hope to have a region of your mind that went unexamined.

Narcissa gazed at the Mirror expectantly, not at all sure what she would see. Instead of a single clear image, there were many different scenarios being shown, each of them unclear. There was Draco, older, happier. Then there was a child she had never seen before, unmistakably belonging to her and Lucius. Front and centre was the Dark Lord, who in defeat could be a Lord no more.

_Why is it unclear? How can the Mirror not know what I want? Unless...the Mirror can only show me what I already know, which must mean that I'm not sure what I want..._ She considered for a moment, and then refocused, pleased to see that all but one of the images had faded, and this one was clear as crystal; her hearts desire.


	38. Ludo Bagman

**Author's Note: Guess what? Seven more reviews till we reach the next century! It would be much appreciated if you reviewed this chapter, even if you normally don't. :) Anyway, how are you all? I, for one, am looking foward to the weekend. Huge thanks are due to Joanne, L.A.H.H, yellow 14, htbookreader1 and satoz for reviewing the last chapter. Much appreciated! I hope you all enjoy this chapter...**

They say that money can't buy happiness. A lot of the time, "they" (whoever they are) are correct. For a short time, fame and money brought Ludo Bagman a feeling of contentment. Not happiness, exactly, but something with which he could fool himself into thinking he was happy. Of course, the illusion didn't last.

It's like biting into a partially rotten strawberry. When you first bite into it, it is smooth and firm, and the delicious flavour explodes on your tongue. Yet after a minute the goodness goes away and you are left with the bitter aftertaste, unable to escape that fact that you made a mistake. You should never have bitten into that strawberry, or isolated yourself with all that money.

Ever since he was a child, Ludo had dreamed of making it big in the industry, in anyway possible. He would read the stories in the Daily Prophet about the Weird Sisters and their groundbreaking music, stare in awe at pictures of the Winbourne wasps, and think, _one day, that'll be me._

He was only looking at the outside, at the superficial farce presented to the public, and that was all he aspired to. Unfortunately, he didn't realise that you can't pick and choose in life. If you get something, you get all of it, the good and the bad and somehow, you have to live with that.

When Ludo was chosen to be a Beater for the Winbourne Wasps at the tender age of 18, he couldn't believe what had happened. After all those long years of dreaming and practising, he had finally achieved his goal.

_"Here you are, Ludo. Do us proud," Simon Slaver, Captain of the Wasps grinned as he presented Bagman with his team jumper._

_"Oh, I will, just you watch," he promised, trying and failing to keep his mouth from curving in a satisfied grin._

_There was a round of applause from their fellow team members who were watching nearby. Over the din, Simon caught his new Beaters eye and said:_

_"It's a rough game Quidditch, but being a top league player, and the life it forces you to lead, that's harder. Don't get swept away in all the chaos, okay?"_

_Ludo nodded uncertainly, his smile wilting slightly. Another player noticed, and called, "Don't mind Simon, Ludo, he worries about everything. This life is great. You're gonna love it!"_

And for a while, he did. He entered each game with the usual amount of nerves combined with anticipation, and with the exception of the time when he went to hit a Bludger and ended up breaking his own nose, delivered outstanding results.

But with the Quidditch came the money, and the fame, which Ludo wasn't ready for. Everywhere he went, he was recognised. He couldn't go for a ten minute walk without being accosted by someone who wanted his autograph, or for him to put in a good word about them. It got to the point where his life was no longer his own. It was ruled by his performance on the pitch, and by the expectations of every single person around him - his teammates, his fans, and even his family.

It was almost a relief when he was accused of illicit activity and hauled in for questioning at the Ministry. He loved being adored, of course, and would bask in the compliments he recieved. The accusations had a tiny good side, and a humungous bad side. They offered a much needed respite from the pitch, yet on the other hand they utterly ruined his reputation, and he was subsequently kicked off the team, never to play professional Quidditch again.

When he was passing on information to Augustus Rookwood, he'd honestly believed he was helping the Ministry, and the wizarding world in general, and how was he to know he was talking to a Death Eater? Besides, to Ludo, Augustus was a family friend, regardless of the person he became around other people, the side that Ludo saw was the side he chose to see. Only problem with that is that, however much you might wish it, people aren't one sided. They chop and change, camouflage rather like animals, adapting to suit the people or the environment around them. You can blind yourself to the parts you don't want to see for as long as you like, yet the fact is they're always going to be there, and bits and pieces of people you never knew existed will occasionally seep through the cracks.

After he lost his career, Ludo's life spiralled downward. He became addicted to gambling. It didn't matter what it was – a Quidditch match (however bitter he felt after watching – why could they have a life like that, soar high above the clouds, while he was stuck down here, with all his resentment?) or a wager on who could down the most Butter beers, the event itself was not the important part. The important part was the thrill, the suspense. The moments after you'd blown all that money and you were waiting (sometimes literally) on the edge of your seat, to see if this time, you'd be lucky. Logic told you that more often than not you would lose out, but here, logic was irrelevant. There was a chance that you would win, that you could keep going and really, how could you pass that up?

However, gambling at that rate for a period of time is bound to land anyone in debt, even someone as rich as Mr Bagman. When the first goblins knocked on his door, he laughed in their faces – him, in debt? Surely not. Yet as the calls increased in number and the voices became less accommodating and more impatient, the full reality of his situation hit him. How _could_ he have been so stupid?

Desperate and short on money, he started paying his creditors with leprechaun gold which, of course, disappeared a little slower than Ludo himself, who took off as soon as possible to avoid being caught out.

By the time the Triwizard Tournament rolled around, he was almost out of options. In a last ditch attempt to smooth it all over, he bet the goblins Harry Potter would win the Tournament, and did everything in his power to ensure it took place.

Anxious and in the grips of insomnia one night, he went for a little night time wander, and stumbled upon everyone's favourite magical artefact – the Mirror of Erised.

What he saw was something that Muggles would describe as a DVD on fast rewind, flipping through days and months and years until it finally came to a sudden standstill. As he gazed into the eyes of his hopeful younger self, Ludo Bagman dared to acknowledge a thought he had kept at the darkest recesses of his mind, _I want – no, I _need – _the last 20 years back._

Unfortunately for our gambling friend, the thing about time, is that it never, ever stops. Sometimes, it seems agonizingly slow, and at others it is faster than what should be possible. Whether it creeps, or whether it races along, one thing Ludo had learnt: not to take it for granted, because you don't get it back.


	39. Peter Pettigrew

**Author's Note: I honestly don't even know how long it's been since I've updated this story. First I was finishing my other HP story which is similar to this, and then an idea popped into my head, and I was busy writing and posting that. Thank you very much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter, and to anyone who reviews this one (I wouldn't be surprised if this story's just been forgotten...)However, here, with no further ado is the next chapter. :) **

Little rat, you know what you are, don't you?

It was fear, you tell yourself, justified fear. And they build, don't they, those little lies, slowly, slowly –

'cos you're nothing anymore, just a pet, a measly little house pet, and time always passes slowly for you. It's all that you deserve, isn't it?

But try as you might, you can't escape, you can't forget. You lied, little Pettigrew.

(liar, traitor, rat)

All you want is to run, to hide, to remember – but remembering is all you do, and you never thought it'd be like this. They're gone because of you, the ones who called you friend.

The innocent, bright eyed little Lily flower. She was so young, so in love, so full of _life. _But not anymore, and now when you close your eyes, hers are all you see. Forever open, terrified, staring, and you think, accusing.

The prankster, with his messy hair, careless laugh, and casual arrogance. James your buddy, your pal, your friend. How could you? He had everything – the intelligence, the popularity, the girl. Some part of you resented him, because that wasn't fair, was it? Didn't you deserve a little recognition, a little power once in a while? Your bitterness was their undoing - and yours, too, just wait and see. You had a choice, tiny vermin, and you chose wrong.

(liar, traitor, rat)

Something went wrong though, didn't it? That boy is still alive. You see him, every single day, and that's your punishment, isn't it? Even if you could let yourself forget, he's always there. Harry, Harry James Potter. You scare yourself sometimes, because you look at him and you see someone else. You see them.

The eyes of that little angel, fallen far too soon. It seems so wrong for death to claim her, it seems so wrong, because it's all your fault. Those eyes are the problem – block them out, and you see something worse. You see a rotting corpse, familiar, all too familiar.

"You betrayed us, Peter. You sold us to Voldemort. I thought we were friends. Come with me, to a place that's better than this. You could be like me. I thought you wanted that..." That's your friend, don't you know? That's Prongs – with empty sockets where his eyes should be. All pale and rotted, and irrevocably _dead_.

(liar, traitor, rat)

One day you creep from the dormitory – always creeping, just like the rest of your kind. You recognise the Mirror when you see it, because you've seen it before. Back then, you were innocent, as innocent as you were ever likely to be. What's happened to you, little boy? What have you become?

It will hurt to look, you know that. It's cruel, this Mirror – all that you want, even if you don't know what it is yourself. So close, and yet, you're never going to reach it. Just more retribution for you, isn't it? It's dangerous, too, and you're kinda scared. These images could destroy anyone, the strongest of characters (and you're just the little weakling, right?). You could go mad. Then again, maybe insanity would be a nice relief for you.

It's exactly as you expected, because in all these years, you've had plenty of time to think, haven't you, Pettigrew? They're all there – James, Lily, little Harry. Sirius is there too, and he has never known the horrors of Azkaban. Remus stands beside him, wan looking, but happy. You see yourself, in amongst it all, and you're right – it hurts so much you feel sick to your stomach, but at the same time, you just can't tear your eyes away.

This is what haunts you, isn't it, Peter? This is what you could have been.

(loved, loyal, friend)

This is what you're not, what you'll never be. You've got to find a way to live with that, little rat. Run, nasty creature, run back to your master, even as you know you'll never find what you're looking for.


	40. Eileen Prince

**A/N: Wow, I don't even remember how long it's been since I've updated! So sorry to any of you who are still reading, both for that and for the dismal quality of this piece. The previous chapter was an experiment in a new style of writing, but I tried to go back to my old habits, as I was unsure how I was doing. Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, your kind words really make my day.**

Victims come in many guises, so varied, and so sadly plentiful that more often that not, they're not spotted at first glance, nor second, nor third. Then again, labelling someone a victim is hardly correct nor fair and really, aren't we all victims, of some form or another?

Eileen Prince was a victim throughout her life, through no fault of her own. First it was at the hands of her well meaning parents, then her fellow students at Hogwarts and finally, her husband.

She grew up in a household that wasn't what you'd call poor, but not rich either. Somewhere in the middle, with a father who had a menial job at the Minstry of Magic and a mother who had no job, but enough pent up frustration for all of them. Her father had a hook shaped nose which he passed onto his daughter, and she to her son. He wasn't a bad father in the sense that he never beat his daughter or his wife, but to Eileen, he was simply never there. This was something which created within her a sense of isolation she could never quite overcome, although she might have turned out a stronger character if she weren't so sensitive.

Her mother was well meaning, but she had a way of addressing her daughter that wreaked havoc with her emotions, and undermined every sure thought she had, until she was left floundering in a sea of confusion and subsequent anger, unable to even identify why she felt that way at all.

Eileen could hear her now, as though she were standing beside her, and not separated by all the distance daughter had placed between mother (not just miles, you see, but memories, and how feeble time did render them).

"You think you're stressed? Imagine how I must feel!"

"You're always right, I'm always wrong." _But I never said that, _the defiant, angry part of her wants to shout, _you just interpreted it that way._

"Oops, sorry, I forgot that everything has to be right for the 'Princess'!" For all that it was a clever play on words, she couldn't help but wonder, asking a question didn't make her spoilt and selfish like a Princess, did it? Aren't people allowed to speak, without fear of scathing judgments and unspoken accusations? Her insecurities haunt her when she thinks, _not you. Don't you know better than to open your mouth? Can't you keep your mouth shut, Princess? You'll just do something wrong otherwise._

Materialistically, her life was the picture of perfection. But this was life, and life is not a pretty picture. Her worries could have been worse, but she was not equipped to deal with them, so something which may have been a mere pebble on her path became the mountain she was too afraid to cross.

After all, if you tell someone something often enough, eventually they'll start believing that themselves. But on the opposite end of the spectrum, you can tell someone something a thousand times, but unless they're willing to hear it, they won't believe you. You cannot see the damage words inflict, but that just makes them all the more dangerous, because who is to say that a flyaway comment might not end a life, or save one?

Hogwarts was supposed to be a place of refuge for this confused young girl, it was supposed to be a place where she could look tired, and not be told she ahd done nothing to feel that way. A place where she could cry because she was sad, and know that the way she felt was justification enough. More than that, it was, she thought, to give her friends. She was not bullied, and that was something, she supposed. It's more that she wasn't noticed, at all. She walked with her head to the ground. She hardly spoke, and when she did, her voice was a timid whisper, as though she thought she had no right to face the world. She wanted to make friends, without a doubt, she just couldn't shake the belief that she didn't deserve any.

She was good at Gobstones, and in time that came to define her. She was made captain of the school club eventually, and although she spoke of it to no one, she felt a fierce spark of pride that she could actually do something right, and that she had been recognised for it.

She just wanted to be _valued. _To be acknowledged, and wanted, and needed. She knew she was only one person to the world, but as the Muggle saying went, but couldn't she, one day, be the world to even one person? That was her deepest desire, and reflected back at her she saw herself, but not exactly, she saw somebody, instead of nobody.

There were people surrounding her, paying attention, to _her. _She couldn't see who they were, but that didn't matter, really. It was almost as though they saw something other than the pale, thin, weak-looing young woman she was. She could almost kid herself into believing that this Mirror showed possibility, instead of the unattainable dreams that reside within the hearts of human beings.

"It's okay," she whispered to no one. "You're okay," she whispered to herself, and if only for a moment, she was.

Sticks and stones, she reminded herself, leaving the room filled with hope for a happy future she would never see.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review; it would be greatly appreciated!**


	41. Bellatrix Lestrange

**A/N: Firstly, huge thanks to LAHH, Plate Captain, yellow 14 and glowyrm for reviewing the last chapter! I decided to write this chapter about Bellatrix (and I haven't checked that I haven't already written one, so I'm just hoping that I haven't) upon the request of Tarak795 - thank you, also, for reviewing. Some of this is similar to another story I've written about Bellatrix, as I liked how she was portrayed there, although she may be a little OOC... That'll be all from me this time, enjoy!**

She walks a thin line, this one, and its a murky path she treads as she skips from sanity to that oh-so liberating madness. It's glory and euphoria and wonder, its recognition and control, and that addictive rush of power she can never get enough of.

It resonates through every fibre of her being, it echoes through the deceptive sound of her name, "Bella," and she's beautiful alright, a beautiful disaster, and as she dances merrily through the Great Hall of her youth, revelling in the fear she leaves behind, she cannot keep that wicked grin away, because she knows that she was made for this.

She's wild and unpredictable and elusive, and she thinks that's what makes her so _perfect _as a Death Eater, as one of the only women in the ranks and she relishes that role, because it's proof, isn't it? It's proof that he values her, that she's important, she's no longer Bella Black with hair as untamed as her mind and smiles full of nasty ambiguity. She's Bellatrix Lestrange, and her name is enough to spark fear in everyone around her, and why shouldn't it? She's not remorseful, not at all. Her victims are a tally in her mind, and if ever she forgets, they're there, reminding her - look at what you can do.

She dances on their graves, spins and twists and twirls, faster and faster, until she can almost forget why she's there at all. And when reality returns, all blood and death and power and _emotions, _for once it's not so bad. She carries her memories with her like a talisman and they protect her, those gossamer strands of past, present and possibility.

"Well done, Draco," she purrs, and even though it's praise, she can see the uncertainty in his eyes.

For a short time, nothing happens, and the pressure is building inside her ready to explode. She can do this, she will do this, for her master -

And then he is there, black cloak billowing behind, and even as she hears him utter the words - "Avada Kedavra!" - and she sees the empty shell of the old man fall towards the ground, she does not trust him. Still, it's a victory for her master, so it's a victory for her, and she just loves to _celebrate, _to release some of the swirling vortex of everything that exists inside her.

Before she knows what she's doing, she's cackling, and there's something more in that hollow sound now, something akin to joy, and without uttering a single word, she's let them know: there's so much worse to come. There's no preamble, within seconds they're running through the ancient school, ducking and weaving, attacking and defending as thoough their lives depend on it, because they _do. _

Adrenalin courses through her veins, making her run faster, laugh louder, and fire curses even more powerful than usual. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and nothing can distract her from this glorious moment of fight and flight, until -

What? Could it be? He wouldn't come here, would he, not yet? It was just a glimpse through a partly open door, but for once curiosity wins out over bloodlust, and she stops in her tracks.

"Oi!" Greyback calls, "What'd you think you're doing?"

"Never you mind, Fido," she snarls, and there's a warning in her voice which makes him turn away and wish he hadn't spoken.

She bites her lip - a rare outward display of insecurity - and hesitates. She should leave, but if he's really here...

Wand out, she enters the room, and an adoring smile adorns her features, but she does not speak. Her eyes are locked on those of her master; she sees nothing else. With one hand, she reaches out, only to find her fingers connecting with glass.

_Stupid woman, it's the Mirror of Erised. You should have known that._

In spite of this, a flicker of disappointment passes across her face, before her expression becomes inscrutible again, and she feels that disappointment like a knife through her insides, because that Mirror is weakness, and she must not, will not, be weak. The Dark Lord cannot feel love, she's come to know that, but she'll strive for his affection nonetheless. Maybe the constant failure will drive her ever further from reality, but she was never one for reality anyway, was she?

She walks briskly from the room, renewed fury burning in her eyes. Someone's going to get hurt, tonight, someone's going the feel the pain she cannot let herself acknowldge.


	42. Oliver Wood

**Author's Note: It's no secret that I am terrible at updating, and again I am so sorry it has taken me so long. What Wood sees in the Mirror is more than a little predictable, but I thought it best to stick with what I know of the character as much as possible. Also, I'm not really happy with how this is written, but I finally had time to update, and I wanted to post something. My thanks go out to everyone who reads, Favourites, Alerts and most of all, reviews this story. It is so validating to hear that people actually take the time to read my work - it truly makes my day. Thank you.**

"Harry, you know what to do, right? _Only _go for the Snitch – "

But Wood never got to finish telling Harry when to go for the Snitch, as the boy in question had clearly had enough for one day.

"I KNOW, OLIVER!" He bellowed, and the depth of exasperation in his tone made Wood stop and think. Maybe 20 reminders a day was a few too many…

Still preoccupied, Wood turned around and slowly began walking away. He was probably going to be late, as class was due to start in a few minutes, but at that point he didn't really care. The energy he had exuded not a few minutes earlier seemed to be leaking out of him, leaving a curious emptiness in its wake.

"Wood?" A concerned voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, hi, Alicia," he said distractedly, "I was just…walking to class."

"Binns' classroom is the other way." She seemed to look at him more closely. "Oliver, are you okay? We'll win the match, don't worry. It'll be great."

"I… how can you be so sure? I want us to win so much, but after all this time, I can't picture what it would actually _feel _like."

She folded her arms across her chest, considering something. Then she said, "Go to the back of the old classroom, two floors down. I have a feeling that may help you."

With a smile and no goodbye, she continued on her way, blonde ponytail swinging behind her. He stared after her, more than a little confused. What good what it do him sitting by himself in an old classroom? Still, he had just enough time before History of Magic, and a slight detour wouldn't hurt…

Years later, there were many things Oliver Wood would have seen in the Mirror of Erised. Then again, by that time he had seen more of life than he had at the age of seventeen. Time had passed, and experience had changed him, adding, he liked to think, a little wisdom along the way.

During the war, he would have seen peace. Even if it wasn't declared outright, the wizarding world wasn't the same after Dumbledore died, or even after the Triwizard Tournament. The Ministry may have tried to discredit Harry and Dumbledore, but it could not erase the common sense from peoples minds, and above all, it could not erase fear. Fear wormed its way into the minds of even the most rational, causing them to jump at every noise and accuse evil of their every neighbour. That was what fear did. A primitive emotion, useful as survival instinct, but so easily spun out of control. Wood saw fear make people do horrendous things. A blanket of tension had descended upon the world, and even the enemy was at its mercy. No one could predict what He Who Must Not Be Named would do next.

After the war, he would have seen a less selfish person. He was not a coward, but when push came to shove, Wood had come to realise that his survival instinct prevailed, every time. And even though he was grateful to be alive, he hated himself a little more each time he thought of those who weren't – those whom he might have saved.

As an older man, he would have seen himself at his father's death. He had always regretted being in the stands with Puddlemere United when he could have been saying goodbye. He understood, then, that no matter how much he enjoyed Quidditch, it was just a game. Nothing could compare to the intangible bonds made between one person and another, the strength of so many shared memories, and the grief that comes with losing all that.

When he looked in the Mirror, Oliver Wood knew none of these things, and what he saw was the victory that he, and Gryffindor, had been striving for all these years. The team were all grinning ear to ear and the sun shone on Oliver hoisting the Cup above his head as though it too was celebrating their triumph. It was just an image, but standing there watching, Wood could imagine for the first time the sense of achievement he would feel, the sweet taste of success that would prove beyond all doubt that no matter what anyone thought, it was worth it.


	43. Nymphadora Tonks

**Author's Note: I cannot update consistently. I guess that's definitely been established. However, I've finally got around to it, when I should be revising for exams... Oh well. Thank you, the most sincere of thanks, to anyone who has reviewed/Favourited/Alerted this story. It is the most validating thing to open your inbox and find a positive response to a piece, so thank you, and enjoy!**

Common opinion is that being a Metamorphmagus would be continuous fun, and Tonks has to admit that the majority of the time, she does enjoy the freedom it offers her in being able to avoid a bad hair day, or to just experiment with her features. Plus, it's a great ice-breaker at parties. However, she suspects that most people would tire of this novelty pretty quickly, as she had done, and favour the certainty of knowing what they were going to look like when they woke up. What Tonks wouldn't give to have an appearance to associate with herself, to have a sense of _self._

Admittedly, she's seen how appearances and being unhappy with one's own self-image can lead to an inferiority complex – she sees it every day in fact, to varying degrees – but she's still envious of everyone else and their unchanging features. They're not confronted with 'friends' who drop her like a hot potato as quickly as they approached her, initially enticed by the idea of a girl with pink hair that might be green next time you looked. Sooner or later, they all got bored, or jealous, and she was left to wonder what she had done wrong.

It has taken her a long time to realise that her worth is not contingent on other people or their perception of or behaviour towards her, that she is important simply because she is _herself_ and no one else can offer the world what she can.

Sensible as it is, this is a difficult belief to maintain when the world, more often than not in conjunction with her traitorous thoughts, presents scenario after scenario that contradicts it. She battles every day to remember that everyone is allowed to just be – pink hair, grey hair, or no hair, but she thinks it would be a lot easier if she had a clearer idea of who she was.

Her Metamorphmagi ability actually explains a great deal of her personality and behaviour, not that she'll ever tell anyone. The more insecure she's feeling, the more eccentric her appearance will be, because despite it all, she still gets stuck in the idea that it is the main reason people like her. Laughing and making jokes comes easily to her, and she's thankful for that, because while she is the one making the jokes, she can't be the butt of them.

Andromeda and Ted had always been supportive of their daughter, proud not only of her ability, but of her optimism, her kindness and her conviction to do what was right. Despite their best intentions, they couldn't ease her confusion, and they couldn't help her fit in.

This is the quality that will lead her to Remus Lupin when she's older – they both understand what it means not to belong. They understand that it is not a single quality that defines each person, a single experience or relationship, but the complex web of relationships, every friend and every enemy, every achievement, every emotion, every moment – all of it is you, and you are all of it.

In this moment she is crying and as she hurries blindly down the corridor she knows that her hair will be rapidly changing colour and length. Her 'friends' are ignoring her again, ignoring the weird one. (And who wouldn't be called weird, with a name like "Nymphadora," she fumes?). Staring straight ahead, she enters the first room she sees.

The Mirror shows her a pretty face, conventionally pretty with wavy black hair that tumbles down her shoulders, eyes that sparkle and a smile with the ability to charm. Yet the most novel, wonderful thing about this face wasn't its beauty, not to her, but its _permanence._

She's Nymphadora Tonks, the girls of many faces, the girl with so many personas and appearances that she didn't have an identity. Everyone struggles with figuring out who they are, in some way at some point. For Tonks, finding an answer was nothing short of inconceivable.

"Who am I?" she whispered.

The image in the Mirror only watched, and she knew that this was one answer she would have to find without help.

Backing away from the Mirror slowly, unwilling to look away from the only unchanging face she would ever see in her own reflection, she tripped over a chair that had been left in the middle of the room. As she righted herself, thankful that this time no one was there to notice her blunder, she had to smile.

_Well,_ she thought wryly, _I'm clumsy, at least I know that much._


	44. Lavender Brown

**Author's Note: So sorry for taking so long with an update! Thank you to anyone who has reviewed, Favourited or Followed this story, thank you for making my day. To anyone who is still reading, I hope you enjoy this one.**

"I just wish that I could see my face the way it used to be – see me the way I used to be – even if it's only one last time. But I'll never be the same again. I'm beginning to forget the way I used to look, and that scares me. One day I won't even have the memory."

"You never know, there might be a way for you to see yourself again, just once more." A smile broke onto his face as he spoke.

"Really, Seamus? Surely even you could understand that this isn't something to joke about!" She snarled, resisting the urge to cry and yell at him until he left her alone. She was doing that a lot lately.

The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of shame as he realised how cruel he must have seemed, casually offering something so unattainable, the very thing she desperately wanted.

"Please Lav – Lavender – let me explain. Remember the Mirror of Erised, at Hogwarts? The one that shows you the deepest desire of your heart. If you look into it, I'm guessing you'll see yourself as you used to be. It won't be the same, obviously, and I know it's not what you want, but I just thought that maybe it's be better than nothing?" He spoke tentatively, hoping not to upset her, and knowing her fragility.

Her anger dissipated slightly once she understood, but she rejected his possibility immediately. It would mean leaving the safety of St. Mungo's, of this isolated room where she was safe from the prying eyes and unasked questions that she was sure would follow her wherever she went.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" He agreed, as she knew he would.

The next day when he visited, at 10am on the dot, as usual, she gave him her answer. "I'd like to go to see the Mirror at Hogwarts. But I want to go at night, when everyone will be asleep." The words she did not say hung in the air between them: _I want to go at night, when no one will see the way I look now._

"I can't imagine how difficult it must be for you, Lav, and I know how much easier it would be to hide away from everyone, but you'll have to face your demons eventually."

"Eventually, yes. But not now. I don't want to discuss this now." She waited for his nod of agreement before continuing. "And, if it's not too much to ask, could you come with me? I'd rather not go alone."

"It would be my pleasure."

When Lavender looked in the Mirror of Erised, she saw a girl with unmarked white skin, long, healthy hair and perhaps most strikingly, a girl whose eyes burned with something Lavender hadn't felt in so long she'd almost forgotten what it was: hope. No scars tarnished this face, no werewolf had destroyed this spirit.

She raised one hand to the face in the Mirror wonderingly, her fingers meeting only glass and her mind conjuring the illusion, brief but powerful, that this might be real. The other hand she raised to her scarred face, trying to reconcile who she had been with who she had become, trying to accept the painful truth, so that she might be able to move on.

Without taking her eyes from the miracle in the mirror, she beseeched him. "Don't I look beautiful?"

"Of course," he said, but he was looking at the young woman standing next to him, not the image in the Mirror.

She turned to him and smiled, the first genuine smile he had seen grace her face in a very long time, and in that moment he knew that even if it achieved nothing else, this trip had been worth it. Anything would be worth it to see her smile again.

Her expression became confused. "How can you look at me, the way I am now, and say that? I'm not beautiful, I'm all…scarred." She said the last word slowly, as though it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I suppose you and I must disagree on what beauty is, and what it means."

She was silent for a while, absorbing his words and all their implications.

"Thank you Seamus."

"Anytime," he replied, and he meant it.

Later, when time had tempered the storm of her self- loathing, and she had finally agreed to marry Seamus, they went back to Hogwarts and back to the Mirror of Erised.

This time they went in the day time, hand in hand, and Lavender walked with her head held high, blissfully unhurt by the curious stares that still met her appearance.

When they reached the room that housed the Mirror and a door stood between the two of them and the outside world, Seamus voiced the words that had been stuck in his throat ever since Lavender suggested they return. "I'm sorry you feel the need to come back here." He struggled to look her in the eyes; his voice was thick with supressed emotion.

"Oh Seamus," she laughed affectionately, "I didn't need to, I wanted to. I wanted to show you what you've done for me. Come on," she pulled him with her, so that they were standing together before the Mirror. "Ask me what I see."

"What do you see, Lav?"

"This. Us, exactly as we are." This time, their roles were reversed, and it was his turn to absorb her words. When he stayed silent, she decided to speak again.

"I've come a long way from where I was then. I've thought a lot, I've learnt a lot, and I like to think I know a lot more, too. I know what freedom is. I know what it means to fall down, but I also know that no matter what, I can choose to get back up. Most importantly, I think, I know that beauty isn't what I thought it was."


	45. Minerva McGonagall

**For alicenotinwonderland - happy birthday! Wishing you a lovely day, and I hope you like this. :)**

April 1998

When Minerva looked back on her life, she could clearly see how she had changed, and how the innermost desires of her heart had changed with her. At the height of the Second Wizarding War, she was sixty-eight years old and, so she believed, far wiser than she had been as a girl of eighteen, or even a widow of fifty.

Had she been able to look into the Mirror of Erised as a love-struck, recent Hogwarts graduate, she would have seen a different life for herself, a life where the Statute of Secrecy didn't matter, where revealing her magic wouldn't mean losing her job, and keeping her job wouldn't mean losing the first and greatest love she would ever know.

He may have been a Muggle, but Dougal Macgregor swept her off her feet over the course of a single summer. He was handsome, clever and funny, and Minerva found herself daydreaming about the future they would share together, and counting down the seconds until she could see him again.

Accepting his proposal was the most spontaneous decision she'd ever made, and for the entire hour until she returned to her parents' house that night, she felt giddy with happiness, so light and carefree that she felt as if the tiniest breeze might lift her up and carry her away.

Back in her own bed, she was shaken from her flights of fancy, back into reality. She knew what marriage to a Muggle would mean, she'd seen it happen to her mother, and she wasn't prepared to live a life of secrecy, to give up the world she held so dear, no matter how much she loved Dougal, and he her. So even though the pain was almost more than she could bear, she found him the next morning to break off their engagement, and fled to London.

At eighteen, and for many years after, it was Dougal she'd see standing next to her in the Mirror.

She couldn't forget him, despite the fact that she never saw him again following that painful day. He held a spot inside her heart – and there is such a spot in every heart – that given to the first pangs of love, and scarcely a day went by when she didn't imagine what he might be doing, whether he'd moved on and married someone else, if he thought of her as often as she thought of him.

Her feelings for Elphinstone were quite unlike those she'd had for Dougal, not in the least because he'd initially been her boss. Caught off guard by his first proposal in Madam Puddifoot's teashop, she felt no hesitation in declining him. Elphinstone and Minerva, married? The very idea of it was laughable, ridiculous.

And still he had not given up, and while there were times when Minerva found his continuing proposals to be nothing short of exasperating, she was also admittedly quite flattered by his persistence. As time passed, he somehow managed to worm himself into her heart alongside Dougal – never replacing him – and at the time of Dougal's death, Minerva was both saddened and relieved. She no longer felt tied to the farmer who'd stolen her heart, and she felt no small degree of happiness upon accepting Elpinstone's next proposal by the Black Lake.

They were granted three wonderful years together, three years in which Voldemort was dead (gone, and incapable of harming anyone at least) and Minerva was quite content living with Elphinstone in Hogsmeade. But happiness, she had come to accept, was simply not meant for her. Elphinstone's death devastated her all over again.

At fifty, it was Elphinstone's face which would confront her in the Mirror of Erised.

Over the years, her grief had lessened, but never completely disappeared. The pain of lost love never really did

At sixty-eight, all she wanted was a peaceful end to the War, and on May 2nd, she would be granted her desire.

She'd had her heart broken, and broken her own heart more times than she cared to count. She'd felt the touch of deep sorrow, yet she'd also known the strength of love, and when all was said and done, there was nothing left for her to regret. For without her experiences, both painful and pleasant, she wouldn't be the woman she was today, bravely prepared to face the rest of the war, and whatever came with it.

**Written for:**  
**The Hugs and Happiness Challenge - Alice**  
**The Legendary Creatures Competition: Bakeneko – write about Minerva**  
**The Hogwarts Classes Category Competition: Study of Ancient Runes – write about a powerful witch/wizard**  
**The Popular Song Competition: One Last Kiss – write about someone who has no regrets**  
**The HP Potions Competition: Aging potion – write about someone in their older years**  
**The Legendary Gods and Goddesses Competition: Athena – write about Minerva**  
**The Wand Wood Competition: Yew – write about a character who is bold/outgoing**


End file.
